


A Crown of Thorns

by AquilaTempestas



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pokemon - Fandom
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Drama, Fantasy, Gen, High Fantasy, Magic, Medieval, Romance, Supernatural - Freeform, Supernatural Elements, Swords & Sorcery, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:47:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 82,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27018316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquilaTempestas/pseuds/AquilaTempestas
Summary: Lyra's life is turned upside down when bandits invade her town of New Bark. She's taken in as a slave, but is quickly sold to a noble family. It isn't long before Lyra finds herself in the service of the young and obedient Prince Lance. Will love blossom?
Relationships: Kotone | Lyra/Wataru | Lance
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	1. Prologue

“Are you certain about this mother?” a young woman said, her arms wrapped around her body, trying to keep herself warm from the piercing cold. All she had to keep herself warm was a sheepskin cloak, a woollen hat and a pair of mittens, but the cold still stung. Although she was protected from the worst of the cold by standing in the cave, the gale still reached her and her companion. “How do you know this will work?”

“Watch and learn, Agatha,” her mother said, her long black curls hidden beneath the hat. They were standing before a brown bear’s carcass. Her mother pulled out a long knife and dropped to her knees. She made a deep incision from the heart to the stomach, pulling back the skin to reveal the insides. Placing the tip of the knife on the heart, she cut into the muscle and pulled it out. “Arceus has granted us Sight. It would be foolish of us not to use it to the best of our abilities. This is how we ensure the future of our world is a bright one.”

Agatha placed a hand over her nose, trying hard not to gag at the stench and sight of blood. Although she had seen her mother perform the ritual many times before, she had never grown accustomed to it. Her stomach muscles tightened, and she made a silent prayer to Arceus her mother would not notice her discomfort. Ritual sacrifice had never been something she liked to watch.

“To gain full Sight, we must make an offering to The Divine.” Arceus went by many names. The Church of Blackthorn had given the title of The Divine, whilst the peasants of nearby villages saw him as The Horned God based on the depictions of him in paintings. “We must bleed the heart into a silver chalice. Place the chalice on the ground before me.”

Agatha removed the satchel from her back and opened it, digging inside for the item. As ordered, she placed it before her mother then took a step back.

Her mother cut into the heart directly down the middle and held it above the chalice. She didn’t remove it until the chalice had been filled. This was the way to commune with The Divine. Or so her mother had claimed.

“What happens next?”

“I will drink the bear’s blood.” She brought the chalice to her mouth and drank a mouthful. Agatha winced. Her mother drank the liquid as if it were water. Once down, she laid the chalice down and gazed up towards the sky, her palms raised above her head, eyes squeezed shut. “I offer thee this carcass in exchange for your wisdom. Please. Tell me what I must do to serve you.”

Nothing happened. Not straight away. Moments later, a white light encased the bear carcass. It disappeared right before her eyes. Startled, she jumped. “It’s gone,” Agatha exclaimed.

Her mother did not respond. Instead, she started to convulse, her eyes rolling back to show the white part fully. Agatha rushed to her side but was flung back off her feet by a mysterious force. All she could do was look on in terror. _Just relax,_ she told herself. _She’s done this before._ Much to her surprise, her mother grabbed her are, her fingernails digging into her skin. Agatha yelped, and tried to free herself, but her mother’s grip was unrelenting. Her mind became flooded with images.

She saw an elderly man wearing a crown of thorns. A woman with long red hair wearing a veil. There was also an image of a crippled hand, and evidence of fire. Behind him, an army of humanoids, their facial features concealed by a hood. A new image appeared. A baby boy born under a full moon. Lastly, she saw a glimpse of a woman standing atop a hill, bathed in sunlight.

Her mother released her grip, and Rebekah stumbled back, but recovered. Regaining control, her mother raised to her feet. “What did you see?” she demanded.

“Um. A baby boy next to a crown. A king with a crown of thorns. A woman who radiates warmth much like the sun. A crippled hand which looked like it had been scarred from fire… or something else. And there were also some robed people, but I couldn’t see their faces….” Agatha explained, regaining her composure. She drew in a deep breath, trying to steady her hammering heart, then said, “What did it all mean?”

“It’s a prophetic vision. Arceus can’t communicate in our language so He sends us images of a future to come. We have to piece the puzzle together ourselves and do our best to serve Arceus.” Her mother paused and frowned. “A crown of thorns represents a king who has sacrificed much. His leadership is born from pain and suffering. Hidden faces imply deceit. Why would you reveal your face if you had something to hide?”

“What about the crippled hand?”

“Means a disability or an illness. Perhaps it is connected to the robed people and the woman with the veil. Embarrassed because they are disfigured. The baby boy is the future king. That is why he is next to the crown and he will be born on a full moon. This implies struggle between reason and what the heart desires. Those born under a full moon are cooperative and good leaders because they listen,” her mother explained, looking thoughtful.

“And what about the connection to the sun? Is this woman a mage?”

The woman shook her head. “She’s favoured by Arceus. Wherever she goes, darkness will be vanquished. She brings light to dark places. These images come together and tell a story. A worthy king will be born under a full moon, and he’ll have to choose between duty and the heart. The forces of darkness threaten to disrupt the peace. They lurk in the shadows hiding their features and their intentions, waiting for the right moment. The crippled hand is plague and disease. Fire is rebirth. But there is always hope. The prophecy of the Sun and the Moon. Arceus wants us to protect them both – the cycle has begun once more.”

Her mother’s voice trembled. The younger woman’s eyes widened. Never had she seen her mother so shaken before. “What do you mean the cycle has begun once more?”

“The world will always be filled with darkness and light – chaos and order – evil and good. We strive for a balance. One side must not overpower the other or the balance will be lost. Centuries ago this same prophecy was fulfilled. A hero emerged from nothing and restored the balance.”

Agatha frowned. “But the prophecy does not state who will emerge victorious?”

Silence then, “No, it does not but they guide us in the right direction. We could spend the next century leaving in darkness, or we could live in another era of prosperity and good health. We are Oracles, women who have the power to communicate with Arceus, and we have the power of seeing glimpses of the future. We are tested by our Creator, and we must show Him our faith and will is strong. We take the knowledge He gives us to make a better future for ourselves.”

“Then what can we do?”

“I will not live to see the boy and the girl mature, but you will be there.” Her mother grabbed her hands, her dark eyes gazing deep into her eyes. “This task falls on you. This prophecy must come to light. It is our duty as oracles.”

“What must I do?”

“Protect them. Do as they ask. They are the ones who will vanquish the shadow.” She wiped her hands on her dress, removing the blood from her skin.

Agatha didn’t understand this prophecy – not entirely. This wouldn’t be the first time someone had prophesized the end of the world. Not whilst her mother still breathed. This wasn’t a task she could do alone. “I understand, mother.”

“You are an obedient child. Come. We must retreat further into the cave and wait out the rest of the storm before we can depart for the city once more.”

Agatha nodded, shifting her attention away from the carcass. She was eager to distance herself from the dead. Staring into the bear’s soulless eyes was unsettling. Without saying anther word, she followed her mother further into the cave.


	2. Damned and Divine

An oppressive hot wind blew in from the southern borders, carrying with it the putrefying stench of the dead. Outside the village wooden gates, there was a force of twenty bandits thirsting for blood. They were led by the strong hand of the bandit leader Archer, a wicked man whose only ambition was to make good coin from selling slaves in the city of Blackthorn.

Lyra cowered under the table her body pressed up against the trembling figure of her mother. Leanna over and placed a kiss on her daughter’s head, whispering words of comfort. But the comfort was just false hope, Lyra knew. Nothing would save them. Nothing _could_ save them. Arceus, the Divine Creator, had abandoned them to a grisly and bloody fate. How could such a benevolent and merciful god allow such hatred and cruelty to flourish in the hearts of men?

“Ssshh… don’t cry… it will all be over soon…” Leanna said, voice trembling as she spoke.

Tears slid down Lyra’s pallid cheeks, landing on the dirt-stained floor. If running was an option, they would take it, but their village was built beside the ocean. Trees grew on the northern and southern sides of the village blocking potential escape. One could have to risk navigating their way through the forest if they wanted freedom, but dangerous animals prowled at night and feasted on daring adventurers that dared to brave the woods. The only escape route was through the west and that path led directly into the bandit camp. Death was their escape.

She had always known this day would come. The village elder, Elm, had predicted it would end this way. But she had not expected it to come so soon. She had recently turned twenty-one and had hoped to live long enough to raise a family of her own. “Mama,” Lyra whispered, grasping onto her mother’s thin, ragged cloth. “Don’t be afraid. We will meet father soon in the Distortion World.” The Distortion World. The place where the dead lingered.

Her father, along with a group of other villages, had left the bandits away from the village. He had bought them precious time, but it hadn’t mattered. The bandits had returned, but none of their own men come home. Her mother kissed her forehead again, sobbing. Lyra held her mother close, trying to keep her sobs as quiet as possible as if it would keep them safe.

“There’s a couple of live ones in here!” a voice yelled from behind the door.

Leanna wiped her tears and climbed out from beneath the table. She glanced down at her daughter through teary eyes and spoke. “Stay back!” She grabbed the nearest object – a thick stick – and pointed it forward at the door. “Stay under the table, Lyra!”

The door burst open. Two men dressed in chainmail from head to toe, stepped inside the small building. Both their faces were concealed by the twisted horned helms on their heads. Broadswords hung at their sides the steel covered in fresh blood. The first man didn’t hesitate – he grabbed her mother’s arm and plunged the sword squarely between the ribs. Lyra brought a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming, but it was too late. The other man had already spotted her.

“What do we have here?” The man on the right searched the room. A grin spread across his face. “A young fair maiden. The commander’s favourite type. I’m sure she’ll fetch us some good coin. I could do with a decent meal. What do you say, Proton? You think the commander will approve?”

Proton, the taller man, looked in Lyra’s direction. His expression was neutral. He walked over her mother’s body and kneeled before her, extending an arm. Lyra backed away. He lunged forward and grabbed her leg and dragged her out. She screamed and tried to wrestle herself free, clawing at the ground desperately, tears stinging her eyes, but she was overpowered. He grabbed her roughly by her hair. “She’s a wild one, Petrel. Look at her eyes.”

Lyra darted a frightened glance at her mother’s fallen body. She was still alive, but just. The woman tried to pick up her weapon, but Petrel kicked it away and wagged his finger in her face. Her hands moved to her stomach, as if that would somehow make the blood stop. Tears rolled down Lyra’s eyes.

“She’s a scrawny little thing. Looks like she hasn’t had a proper meal in weeks. She won’t last the trip,” Petrel said, closing the distance between them. He kneeled in front of her and brought his face close. “Hasn’t been sleeping well either. Look at the black bags beneath the eyes. Probably diseased.”

Lyra spat in his face. The man swore and aimed a punch at her right cheek. She toppled backwards, her head smacking against the floor. “Fucking bitch!”

Proton laughed. “I think you might be wrong about her. She’s a feisty one. All she needs is a good rest, some fine food, and she’ll be back to normal. You could even have her for yourself once she’s back in prime condition. Wouldn’t you like that? Your own pet?” he taunted.

Petrel scowled. “The commander will make her learn obedience soon enough.” He climbed to his feet then glanced in the direction of her mother once more. Leanna was still breathing though her breaths were becoming ragged. “As for you. You’re not needed. There’s no room for an old woman.”

Lyra wanted to take her hand, to touch her mother one last time, but the soldiers had other plans. Petrel plunged his blade through the back of her neck. Lyra covered her eyes, tears streaming down her swollen cheeks. Proton grabbed her arms and dragged her frail body across the bloody floor, pulling her towards the entrance. Once outside, he picked her up. She tried to fight back, but she was too weak from a lack of good food and almost sleepless nights. Soon, she found herself outside in the scorching heat.

“Tie a cloth around her mouth so we don’t have to listen to her scream.”

Before Lyra could object, a dirty piece of cloth was tied around her jaw covering her mouth.

“Come on, let’s head back to the main group. Archer will want to know what we have to offer.” Petrel picked her up.

Lyra wept.

* * *

Night had fallen. The night terrified her. The night was full of horrors. Creatures that could see you, but you could not see them. No one dared to leave their homes without the sun. But here she was stuck in a cage on the back of a trade cart, sitting under the light of a full moon. Trapped like an animal.

The bandits had made camp in a forest clearing to the north of the village. There were ten bandits in total and all were male. The stench of cheap ale filled the air as the men sat on logs around a campfire, one hand on their swords as if they anticipated an attack with a drink in the other. The slaves – of which she counted twelve including herself – were all in small cages on the back of carts.

Lyra sat in the corner of a wooden cage, her knees brought to her chest, arms wrapped around them. The cage stunk of pig. There was even blood on the hay-strewn floor. Probably a stolen trade cart used for transporting pig. But was it even pig’s blood? There was no way to tell. She buried her head in her arms to hide the tears, but she didn’t close her eyes. When she did, images of her mother’s death formed in her mind.

“What’s your name?”

She jerked her head up, her thoughts interrupted. “Lyra.”

Proton had thrown her into a cage with a boy and another girl. Both appeared around her age – perhaps a year or two older. Certainly not children. The boy had thick, black brows and hair as dark as the night sky whilst the girl had an odd bend in her nose and dark brown eyes. Her straight brown bangs fell around her shoulders. Both had round faces, and pale white skin. There was also a smudge of dirt on the boy’s face.

“You can call me Ash,” the boy said, his voice hoarse. “Though some folks call me Red. They say me face turns a bright shade of red when I’m getting all flustered.”

“I’m May,” the girl said. “Lyra. That’s a pretty name,” she added in a drawling tone.

Another foreign accent or someone who came from a lowly background. Sometimes, wealthy people from Blackthorn visited the village to collect taxes. Their accents were more pronounced – probably to do with better education, Lyra concluded. Villagers and townsfolk spoke plainly. 

The trade cart jerked forward. They were on the move again. The commander Archer rode ahead leading his men along the path whilst several bandits flanked all sides of the three trade carts. Archer was easily identified by the horned helm on his head and the leather cloak draped over his shoulders. Each bandit carried a torch in their left hand and a sword in the other. The other carts were also occupied with three slaves each.

Silence, then, “They found me in Pallet Town. Bandits came through. Burned the town to the ground,” Ash murmured. “I’ve been ’ere for a week.”

“I was supposed to board a ship back to Hoenn at Olivine City,” May explained, pushing a strand of hair behind her right ear. “But we never made it. The bandits came. My parents… They died trying to save me,” her tone quivered. May drew in a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “I saw them die and I couldn’t do anything to stop it from happening.” A sob escaped her throat.

Leanna’s death replayed in Lyra’s mind, a tight feeling developing in her chest, almost suffocating. She rubbed her eyes to wipe away the beginnings of tears. They were both looking at her expectantly, waiting for her story, but Lyra kept her mouth shut.

What was the point? It wasn’t as if she was going to see these people again. They probably wouldn’t even survive the night. There were all sorts of dangers outside the village, and a full moon usually meant the wild creatures were more violent than usual. With any luck they would be attacked, and they’d all perish. Death would be better than a life of slavery in the region’s capital.

“…Not much of a talker, are you?” Ash said. “I ‘spose it don’t matter. We’re going to Blackthorn, and we won’t ever see each other again. The city is so big.”

Blackthorn City, the so-called Jewel of the North. It was situated at the base of the Blackthorn Alps, a mountain range that covered the northern part of the region. Because of their location, the city folk rarely saw the sun. Rumour was winter lasted eight months in the far north. The city was under the leadership of Edward Blackthorn who had claimed the throne after his father fell in battle. Or so the tales had said. The man had two grandchildren, Lance and Clair Blackthorn. The parents had presumably perished to disease.

“At least there ain’t any mages around,” Ash mused.

“Mages have their uses,” May argued.

“I don’t know how they do things in Hoenn, but mages ain’t accepted around these parts. The moment they find out you have magic? They’ll chop your head off.”

“Who is they?” Lyra said, curious.

“The Dragonite Order of Knights,” Ash said. “Elite soldiers. I’ve seen them myself.”

“And they hunt mages?”

Ash nodded. “Anyone who poses a threat to their kingdom. Henry Blackthorn trusted a mage then was stabbed in the back by one. He died, and Edward claimed the throne and declared war on all mages,” he explained with a shrug of his shoulders. “That’s how the tales go.”

Lyra turned away gazing out through the cage bars, her arms still wrapped around her knees. Mage business wasn’t her concern. She wasn’t a mage.

Ash leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “When you have that much power at your fingertips, you’re eventually goin’ to lose your mind. My mother always told me that men who seek the crown meet an early death.”

Lyra didn’t agree, but what was the point in starting an argument over it? She nodded, and May followed. The girl seemed indecisive. Probably just trying to be friendly. Either that, or she was just daft. As if he knew the conversation was over, Ash fell silent, leaning back against the wooden bars, his arms resting on his lap. May peered through the bars and stared at the moon. Lyra ignored them both and closed her eyes.

Approaching footsteps prompted her to open her eyes. Proton walked towards them a torch in his right hand and silver keys in the other. “The commander says we need to make sure you are all in good health. We won’t make any gold otherwise. You, boy, have some water. You look parched.” He inserted the keys into the lock then pulled open the door.

If she had been brave, Lyra would’ve tried to escape, but her body refused to move. It was as if someone had shackled heavy weights to her legs to prevent her from moving. Once again, she was powerless and could only watch as Ash was pulled out of the cage.

Ash was marched over towards the campfire where the other bandits gathered around. Some were now standing whilst the others remained seated. Amused grins spread across their faces. Silence was never a promising sign.

“Take this water. Drink up. Plenty to go around,” Proton ordered, handing Ash a small brown satchel.

Ash grabbed it eagerly and brought the rim to his mouth. He tilted his head back and drank greedily as if his life depended on it. A few moments later, he threw the satchel onto the ground and lurched over, a hand on his stomach. Liquid spilled from his mouth. His reaction prompted the bandits to burst out in raucous laughter.

“Never seen a man so eager to drink horse piss,” Petrel laughed.

More laughter from the bandits. The only man who did not share their amusement was Archer. He marched up to Ash, grabbed the boy’s arm and lifted him to his feet. “Enough! If you make this boy sick, then we can’t sell him. You’ll have your entertainment when we earn our coin. Keep your hands off the slaves or I might decide to sell you instead,” he snapped. “Put the fire out. We don’t want to draw unnecessary attention. Lock this boy up again and sleep. We have a long ride ahead of us.”

The laughter died. “Of course, commander.” Ash was dragged back to the cage and thrown inside. The door slammed shut, and Proton locked the gate. “Keep your mouth quiet. I don’t want to hear chatter from you.” He spat at Ash then walked away.

Lyra shifted her attention to Ash. The boy had his head buried in his knees, his body trembling. A contrast to his earlier behaviour. Soft sobs escaped his throat. Lyra brought her hands to her ears to drown out the sound. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to force recent events from her mind. Maybe this was all just some cruel dream. Perhaps she’d wake up and find herself back in her home. Why would Arceus punish her?

Somehow, she managed to sleep.

* * *

Her sleep was short-lived. Panicked cries from the bandits made her open her eyes. They had stopped at an oak tree. Stifling a yawn, Lyra pressed her head against the bars to get a better look. The leader, Archer, was standing beneath the tree and gazing upwards. Petrel and Proton flanked his sides, their torches raised. Other bandits remained on their horses.

Lyra followed Archer’s gaze. There. Three corpses hanging from a tree, a thick rope tied around their necks. Two young girls and a woman. Oddly, Lyra noted there was a strange marking on their foreheads drawn with blood. A five-pointed star. “Now what kind of sick bastard did something like this?” she heard Archer murmur.

“Can’t be pirates. They wouldn’t come this far south,” Proton said.

“And it’s not one of our own men. We don’t hang people and we don’t draw funny symbols,” Petrel pointed out, pointing at the bodies. “You think it’s the work of the mages? Not all of them perished during the war.”

Archer took off his helm, so he could see better revealing his short light-blue hair. “I’ve never seen anything like that before. Must’ve taken some effort to string them up there.”

“What should we do, commander? Do we leave them there?” Petrel said.

“Leave them up there. It’s no concern of ours,” Archer answered, turning his back. He put his helm back on and returned to his brown stallion. “Mages haven’t been seen since the war. If any of them survived, they would’ve been picked off by the wolves…. Or roaming soldiers. It’s rare, but Blackthorn soldiers do ride this far.”

“Wolves?” Lyra whispered.

“Werewolves,” Ash supplied, his voice unsteady. “Men that turn into rabid beasts on a full moon. Legend says a woman fell in love with a man, but he broke her heart. She placed a spell on his tribe, making them slaves to the full moon.”

“The only person who has ever defeated a werewolf is Lance Blackthorn,” May said. “It’s why he became the knight-commander at an early age. He was sixteen. Now he’s twenty-five.” She stuck her face between the cage bars, trying to get a glimpse of the corpses. A soft gasp escaped her throat, as her hands moved to her mouth. “Oh my Arceus… Those poor people. You think the werewolves did that?” May didn’t receive an answer.

“What was that?” Proton said, holding his torch towards the bushes ahead.

Archer frowned. “I didn’t hear anything. We should keep moving. I’d like to reach Blackthorn by dawn and receive our gold for the week then it’s off to the southern lands once more.”

Lyra head a faint rustling of leaves from the forest. She squinted. Movement behind the bushes. A rabbit?

Archer also seemed to notice. He urged his horse forward. Petrel approached the forest boundary, his torch raised high and his sword ready. “What do you see?”

A small brown hare emerged. Its long ears were erect and constantly moving, as if expecting danger. “It’s a hare, Archer.”

Archer sighed and turned his horse back around. He ordered the men to keep moving as both Proton and Petrel returned to the trade cart. They climbed on board and grabbed the reins of the horses. They only managed to cover a short distance when a scream, followed by a deep growl tore through the still quite air. A horse screamed. Lyra jumped, startled. She glanced over her left shoulder. There. A large grey wolf. Two more grey wolves joined it.

“Wolves! To arms, to arms! Protect the trade carts! The rest of you! Keep moving! We must reach the city!”

Some of the bandits turned around and charged at the wolves whilst the other trade carts continued to move ahead led by Archer. Even though the wolves weren’t close to the cart, Lyra scrambled back and positioned herself between Ash and May to further distance herself. Two more wolves joined the fray. One wolf leaped at a bandit, knocking the man off his horse. The other wolf jumped on the horse and tore into its neck.

Lyra covered her eyes and placed her hands over her ears, trying to drown out the screams. Someone was crying. Probably May. The screams became louder still, and combined with the howls of the wolves, it was impossible to block out all the sounds. A nightmare. A living nightmare. One she couldn’t escape from.

“Ignore them! Move! Move!” Archer called out.

The cart jerked forward. Lyra screamed and opened her eyes as she tumbled forward, her head smacking the bars. She winced, and rubbed her head, checking for blood. Nothing. A wolf slammed into the bars and stuck its snout through the gaps, gnashing its jaws, trying to grab her. She scrambled backwards, heart hammering in her chest.

She had never seen a wolf before. It was twice as large as the average domestic dog, but its eyes were a bright gold. The wolf clamped its jaws around the bars, trying to chew through the wood. Cracks appeared. “Oh Blessed Divine, save us!” May pleaded.

Ash kicked the wolf in the snout. The wolf released and growled. It lunged again, this time smashing through the weakened bars. It climbed into the cage.

“Have mercy on us!” May cried. Her cries were immediately silenced when the wolf jumped on her. It clamped down on her arm and tore it off with little effort.

Lyra screamed. She was going to die here. Killed by a wolf. It would’ve been better to die back in her home with her mother. Ash tried to fight the wolf off, but his actions only angered it further. Whilst the wolf was distracted, Lyra crawled out of the cage. Anything was better than dying in a cage. Maybe she’d able to sneak away in the chaos and dim light. She didn’t manage to cover much ground when Archer grabbed her.

“I intend to claim my gold,” he said. “One slave is better than none.” Lyra didn’t have the strength to fight him off. He rode away from his men, leaving them to fend for themselves. Some of them fled. Others became food for the wolves. A fate well deserved. In the end only gold mattered.


	3. The Jewel of the North

Village life had been quiet. Although Lyra had been familiar with everyone, she rarely engaged in conversation with her neighbours. Her mother had been the same, preferring to keep her distance, busying herself with work. They never shared the dinner table with the neighbours and rarely aided each other unless circumstances were dire. Blackthorn was quite the opposite.

There were groups of soldiers patrolling the winding streets, dressed in golden chainmail with golden cloaks, armed with shields ands swords. Lyra noticed a dragonhead emblazoned on the back of their capes marking them as a member of the Dragonite Order of Knights.

Domestic dogs and cats could be found on the streets wandering about and no one seemed to be bothered by their presence. All sorts of commoners could be identified. The slaves were easily noticeable because of the rags, and common soldiers wore chainmail and helms, armed with spears and shields. Local women wore dresses of different colours whilst the men dressed in tunics and black leggings. The air was filled with conversation. Some people were even pointing and looking in her direction.

“You’ll be auctioned here,” Archer said, gesturing towards the wooden podium.

Lyra spotted another boy with a rope wrapped around his neck, his arms and legs also bound by another piece of rope. He was on his knees. Lyra kept silent. More people had arrived in the city square. Even some of the soldiers had come over to investigate. She drew in a deep breath and swallowed, trying to ignore the tightening sensation in her stomach.

A tall man with a white beard sauntered towards her. The left side of his face had been burned. “The name’s Blaine and I own you until you are sold, but first I need to check if you are worth anything to anyone. Archer. Bring her inside.” He jerked his head to the left towards a small house.

“Of course.” Archer grabbed her arm and led her away from the large crowd.

“Where did you find her? And how long have you had her?” Blaine said, as they entered the house. The room was mostly empty save for the table and chairs in the middle. Supposedly it was just a holding room for slaves until the auction. Blaine looked her up and down.

“In the village of New Bark Town. It’s the smallest village I’ve ever visited.”

“And you only found one?”

Archer shrugged. “We could only hold one more person.”

Blaine drew his face close. “She looks ill.”

“It’s a poverty-stricken place. She needs good food. A comfortable bed to sleep in. She’ll be right. Have I let you down before?” The man grunted. Archer continued. “Just as I expected. I’ve brought you slaves before. That Silver boy. He was a good find.”

“You said he was given to you.”

With a shrug of his shoulders, Archer said, “He was abandoned and given to me. I didn’t want to raise some child, so I sold him to you in promise for some good coin.” He paused, rubbed his chin then added, “Speaking of coin, I’ve travelled a long way to give you some slaves. Have I passed your test, Blaine?”

Blaine examined Lyra again, his hot breath washing up against her face. “I want Agatha to examine her. If she passes Agatha’s test, then I will pay you the coin you seek. If she doesn’t past the test, I won’t pay you for this one. I’ll return shortly. Don’t go anywhere or you won’t leave this city in one piece.” The man retreated, exiting through the door.

Lyra remained silent and still, her heartbeats becoming more noticeable. It was as if she had just been running. Discomfort spread to her shoulders and her back, and even down to her legs. Fear and doubt were paralysing. She couldn’t move even if she wanted to.

Archer had little interest in her too. He paced back and forth, unable to stand still. His pacing became more frantic as time passed on but came to an abrupt stop when the door swung open. An elderly woman with a hunched back stepped through the door, her long scraggly hair falling down her back.

“Agatha,” Archer greeted.

The woman ignored him and sauntered towards Lyra as the men stepped back. She was a head shorter than herself, but the woman exuded an odd aura of power despite her diminutive frame making her look fragile. Agatha stopped before Lyra and reached out an arm to grab hers.

It was as if the woman had dunked her hands in ice cold water. Startled, Lyra withdrew her arm, prompting a low chuckle from the woman. A chill raced down her spine, unnerved.

Moments passed when the woman placed her other hand on Lyra’s arm. Her grip tightened. Holding her gaze directly, Agatha said, “Arceus has blessed you.” Agatha held her grip for a few moments longer then released Lyra’s arm, a slow smile spreading across her face. She shifted her attention to the men. “Your captive is pure.”

“How do you even know that?” Archer said.

“She is showing no signs of illness.”

The man lifted a brow. “You can tell?”

“I am a doctor. I notice things ordinary people do not notice,” the woman replied without even looking at the man. Her eyes were still focused on Lyra. “She will serve this kingdom well. Now, if there’s nothing else you need of me, then I will walk myself out of this room and return to my quarters.”

“Of course. Thank you for your time, Agatha,” Blaine said, walking over to the door.

Agatha opened the door and left the building.

“You’ve passed the test. You’ll be sold immediately,” Blaine said before turning his attention to Archer. “I’ll meet you at the city gates at sundown for your coin. You’ve done well today.” Shifting his focus back to Lyra, he said, “Come on, girl. The crowd awaits.” He held out his arm.

Lyra took it. What other choice did she have? Remaining silent, she allowed him to guide her back outside to a hungry mob.

“My word is final,” Edward Blackthorn said from across the table, his voice low but calm.

His granddaughter, Clair, stood behind the chair on the opposite end of the table, her brows furrowed, and fists hanging at her sides. She paced back and forth her lips pressed together in a thin line. Many servants and even soldiers knew to keep their lips sealed when Clair was in one of her moods, but Edward knew better than to fall victim to her tantrum. She often resorted to childish behaviour to obtain her goals. “You will marry King Alder’s grandson, Prince Benga. Your marriage will unite our two kingdoms.”

Clair stopped pacing and spun around, grabbing the chair’s headpiece, her fingers digging into the decorated wood. “I am not some puppet of yours, grandfather. I refuse to be married to Benga!”

Edward rose from his chair. “I am not just your grandfather – I am your King, and you will do as I command. The prince will arrive in four days’ time to meet you before the ceremony. A grand feast will be held in his honour and I expect you to be on your best behaviour.” In a less commanding tone he added, “This will benefit our kingdom greatly, Clair. We do have enemies that lurk in the shadows. The mages.”

Clair scoffed. “The mages are no longer threat. You drove them away. You won the war. What are we afraid of?”

Edward walked over to the window and peered outside, his eyes shifting to the mountains in the distance. “Not all were killed during the battle. Quite a few of them survived and fled to the woods and the mountains.” Once there had been a time the cities had been inundated with mages, but numerous battles and raids had significantly lowered their numbers over the decades. It was believed they had all died out, but Edward remained convinced they still existed, and often sent small raiding parties across the land to ensure no mage set foot upon their lands. “Mages aren’t the only threat, Clair. Wolves exist.”

He pulled his gaze from outside and looked upwards at the tapestry above the throne. To the left, a group of armoured men wielding swords and shields warding off against humans in robes. Wolves accompanied the robed people. It was said wolves were servants of magic having been products of nature themselves. However, the existence of wolves was often doubted.

“No one has seen a wolf in years since Lance killed one,” Clair said. “And that was over five years ago.”

The man nodded, a hand stroking his beard. “They are not easy creatures to find.”

“I don’t know what you are worried about.” Clair moved to the opposite side of the throne. “We have the forces. You are the king of the Johto-Kanto region, and all eight cities and towns fall under your leadership. If you wanted an army it would not take long to assemble one. We could purge the world of these abominations.”

Edward sighed, and walked over to the window again. Once more he looked towards the mountains as if the answers that he sought were there. He couldn’t even see the mountain peaks for they were covered in a thick layer of cloud. Not even the bravest of men would climb to the top. “No other kingdom can field an army that can compare to our own. We need to seek aid elsewhere from foreign shores. Marriage will secure the aid we need.”

Clair joined his joined. “Marriage? Lance isn’t allowed to marry. Not until he’s too old to serve in the army. Isn’t that the oath the knights swear, or have you forgotten?” she jested, her arms folded over her chest.

He turned to face her, his jaw tightening. Before Clair could speak another word, he lifted a hand and struck her across the right cheek.

Shocked, Clair stepped back. “You just hit me!”

“I will not tolerate your lack of respect. You will marry Prince Benga of House Unova.”

“Prince Benga is a boring man!” Clair protested. “Have you not considered my feelings about this? He prefers to keep his head buried in dusty books than being a man and fighting!”

Edward considered striking her again but restrained himself. Once had been enough. He didn’t need her walking around the halls with a reddened face. “He is a suitable option for you, and a pleasant young man.” Prince Benga was said to be a kind, wise man with a calm temperament – something Clair lacked. He hoped such a man could influence Clair to act like a normal woman. “You do not get a say in this.

“I am not going to marry a boring man,” Clair hissed, her eyes narrowed.

“You will do as I say as long as you live under my rule,” Edward replied, his voice low.

Clair recoiled, as if she had been struck in the face again. “You don’t care what I want.”

“Lance will make you see reason.”

A sardonic laugh escaped her throat. “It always comes back to Lance, doesn’t it?”

Edward curled his fingers into a fist. “He understands the sacrifices we must make in order to keep the peace You need to understand that and look outside your own interests. We are not commonfolk. Our responsibilities go beyond our own desires. The people of Blackthorn come first. I am doing what is best for the future of our people.”

Her eyes narrowed in distaste. “That’s the problem. You always do what _you_ think is best for everyone, but you never actually ask for opinions outside your own. Don’t even bother having the servants prepare a meal for me – I won’t be returning to the castle tonight.” She headed towards the door then stopped. Before leaving, she glanced over her shoulder and said, “An arranged marriage isn’t going to make things better. A good king would realize that.”

Edward opened his mouth to reply, but it was already too late. Clair had already left. Holding back a sigh, he turned back to the window and looked down below. He could see crowds of people in the city in the great courtyard. The markets were on today and nobles, peasants and the farmers had come together to exchange their goods. Some foreigners had also come to make a fortune, often bringing in rare pieces of jewellery and scents that only the rich could afford.

“One day you’ll understand my decisions,” he murmured. Storm clouds billowed to the south above the Blackthorn Forest. Many dangers lurked in the woods and only the strongest of his men could pass through. “Every decision I make is to protect our family,” he said aloud. Before the war had even begun, an oracle had told him the Blackthorns would fall to magic. He wouldn’t allow that to happen at whatever the cost. A knock on the door brought him out of his thoughts.

“My lord. Your presence is required downstairs. We have news.” The voice belonged to his newest personal servant, Joey. The boy had been picked up from a recent slave auction and Edward had purchased him to save him from a crueller a fate. Although slaves in his castle were well looked after, the same couldn’t be said for others.

Edward cleared his throat. “I will be there at once.” He continued looking down at the courtyard below until he heard Joey’s retreating footsteps. Drawing in a deep breath, he walked over a basket in the corner of the room and bent over to pick up his cloak. When in the public eye, he wore the red cloak which had the symbol of an orange dragon head stitched onto the back. It was the symbol of their people and represented strength and bravery. In private affairs, he wore a plain blue cloak. “May the scouts bring good news,” he said to himself as he exited through the door.

Lyra was forced to kneel on a wooden podium as a thick rope was placed around her neck. Her arms and legs were also bound together by two separate pieces of rope to prevent her from escaping. Not that she would’ve even if she could. The place was guarded. Escape was nothing but a dream.

“Better to die than to be a slave.”

A large crowd of people stood before the podium as they waited for their chance to purchase a slave. There were both men and women available, but none she recognized. All those she had travelled with had been killed by the wolves. A boy with shoulder-length red hair looked back at her, then spat at the ground. She winced, and he chuckled.

“You hear that? The crowd is getting excited. They can’t wait to get their hands on us so we can do their dirty work, the lazy bastards. I’m not even for a sale, but that bastard wants to humiliate me some more.”

Such a different landscape from what she had grown accustomed to. So many people. So much sound and colour. Arceus was a cruel god. She should’ve died. She wanted to die. Yet she had survived and witnessed death to become a slave. Only a cruel and a wicked god would allow such a fate. “And who are you?”

“Silver.”

The boy that had been abandoned and sold into slavery according to the conversation exchanged between Archer and Blaine.

He snorted. “Not that names even matter. They might decide to give you a new one. You might even be branded with a unique mark so no other master can punish you, but your own master. When they tire of us, they send us to the Pits to die.”

“Why aren’t you being sold?” Several people in the crowd were pointing at her. One of them even laughed. Her stomach muscles tightened, and she bit down her lower lip. Who would she end up serving? Why had Arceus allowed her to live? Even if she tried to kill herself, she’d somehow survive. Something would happen. He wanted her to live. But why?

“Entertainment. He thinks its funny to put me on for show.” He spat at the ground again then looked her up and down. “They’ll like you all right. I assume you’re a maiden? I pity you if you end up with the commonfolk. They’ll certainly rough you up. You should be begging for death.”

She shook her head. “I won’t let them touch me.”

“You think you have a choice? You’re such a naive girl. You’re one of those country folks aren’t you? From a small town?”

Lyra remained silent.

“I figured as much. What do you know about city life? I grew up in the city. I grew up in this filth. I know what happens in these places and if you think you have a choice then you’re even more foolish than I thought. You’ll be raped tonight. Probably shared by a group.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Lyra replied.

Silver gave a sardonic laugh. “You really are stupid, aren’t you? I suppose you country folk think the world is a nice place. Led to believe the aristocrats are nice people and could never do anything wrong.” He tilted his head forward. More people had arrived. “See the smiles on their faces? Don’t be fooled. Behind their smiles is a wicked mind.”

Lyra didn’t respond. She looked towards the crowd again. One of the smiling men walked towards her and reached out a hand, wanting to toucher her, but the guards pushed him back. He tried to fight back but was easily overpowered by the stronger guards. She remained silent, observing, doing her best to hold back tears. Tears would not help her. It would probably only make the situation worse.

“If you can find a way to ease the pain permanently, do it. Better to die than to live the rest of your life as a slave,” he said, shifting his attention elsewhere, a scowl on his face. “Here comes the auctioneer.” He turned his head to the right.

Lyra followed his gaze, training her eyes on a short squat man with a thick moustache and ginger beard. If she had been standing, the man would’ve only come to her waist. Still, as short as he was, the crowd seemed to respect him as their laughter and conversation died down. Dressed in all white clothing, the man walked up the stairs onto the podium carrying a golden in his right hand and a small hammer. She supposed he rang the bell to make a sale or to call for silence. He ignored her and walked to the centre of the stage and addressed the crowd.

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen! It is with my great honour that I hold the monthly auction event! We have several servants available every day this week to cater for your household needs! If someone has placed a bid, you have ten seconds to outbid them otherwise the sale will be made.”

The crowd met his words with applause. Some people were already pulling out their pouches of coins. Bronze and silver coins were common among the peasants, but only the rich had gold coins in their possession. Twenty-five bronze coins equalled one silver coin and fifty silvers made a single gold coin. 

“And let the fun begin….” Silver muttered.

“This morning I have five healthy slaves available! We have three males and two females! This one here in the middle isn’t for sale, but he’s a prime example of the good health these slaves are in! Make your offers before these slaves are gone forever!”

“Twenty bronze coins!”

“Thirty silver coins!”

“One gold coin!”

Silver snorted. “Twenty bronze coins?”

Lyra ignored him. People were pushing to get to the front of the crowd to examine the slaves up close. One man with a thick moustache with a round face approached her. He was dressed in the standard peasant clothing; a brown tunic with a thin black rope tied around his waist.

He reached a hand towards her, his fat fingers pinching her cheeks. The guards didn’t even try to stop him; it seems that once the auction had begun, little care was shown towards the slaves on the market.

She jerked her head back earning a chuckle from the man. “I’m interested in this one. I will pay ten gold coins for her.”

“This is an auction, sir. You have to outbid the others before you can claim her.”

The man’s smile faded. “Do you not recognize me? I am Chuck, the King’s right-hand man, and I will purchase this woman.”

For a man who was the King’s right hand, he certainly didn’t look the part. He was a brutish man with thick arms and legs; he looked more at home on a battlefield than living in the royal castle. Lyra assumed that he had come here dressed in ordinary clothing to not draw attention.

A faint red blush appeared on the auctioneer’s cheeks. “I am sorry, sir. I-I did not recognize you. Of course. You may have her.”

Chuck handed him a large brown pouch full of golden coins then exchanged handshakes with the auctioneer. Turning his attention to Lyra, he said, “On your feet, girl. I will not ask twice.” He grabbed Lyra by the wrist, his fingernails digging into her skin.

The rope binding her arms together was untied and she was able to stand. She clambered to her feet and glanced in Silver’s direction, but he did not meet her gaze. He was looking elsewhere. She averted her gaze and returned her attention to Chuck.

He guided her away from the crowded auction area and towards the markets. There was a large crowd of people here as well, walking up and down the paved street, browsing the stalls for products that would benefit them or their households. There were stalls selling magical potions. Stalls selling fruits. Some stalls even sold weapons ranging from simple crossbows to short swords. She even spotted a stall selling clothing.

“You will be trained to serve the King,” the man said as he navigated through the crowd. Even though his grip was firm, she was glad otherwise she’d become lost in the sea of people. “You will be taught how to perform your duties to the best of your ability to serve King Blackthorn. Sheila will take care of you up until you’re training has been done. You will do as you are told. Is that understood, girl?”

She nodded, drawing in a deep breath to steady her racing heartbeat.

“What is your name?”

“Ly-Lyra,” she said, her stomach twisting into a knot. He was the King’s right hand. He was going to expect great things from her and if she failed to perform… She didn’t dare think of what the consequences would entail. Perhaps she’d be fed to the dogs.

“This is your life now, Lyra. You serve the Crown. Whatever life you lived before is in the past and must be forgotten. Your purpose now is to serve. When your training has been completed, the King will analyse you himself and then pass his judgement. Do I make myself clear, Lyra?”

She nodded again. “Yes sir,” she answered.

“Do you know how to read and write?”

“Yes sir,” she repeated. Her mother had taught her how to read and write.

The man frowned, impressed. “That’s an important set of skills you have. Many slaves we capture lack the basics.” He continued leading her through the markets until they reached an iron gate. Two guards were standing outside. When they recognized them, they opened the gates to allow them entrance.

Lyra looked ahead in awe. A castle of white stone towered over the kingdom, casting a black shadow over the courtyard. Hedges lined both sides of the single white cobblestone path to the castle gate. The castle itself consisted of five levels and there were four watch towers in each corner to provide sight in all directions. 

“This will become your home when you have passed judgement. But for the next three days you will live within the slave quarters.” He lifted a hand and pointed to the east, bringing her attention to a wooden building with a straw roof. It was only one storey high and probably had enough rooms for ten people. “Now come. I will introduce you to Sheila.”

Lyra kept her mouth shut and followed him towards the building. It wasn’t as if she had a choice – he was holding her arm and running away would be foolish. Better to end up here under the protection of the King’s right-hand man than be purchased by some commoner.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. The door swung open revealing a woman dressed in a plain grey dress. Lyra saw the beginnings of wrinkles around her hazel eyes. The calloused hands also told her this woman had endured many long years of hard labour. Still, despite this, the woman managed a smile.

“Another one to join the flock?”

Chuck nodded, releasing his grip on her arm. “Yes. Probably in her early twenties. Probably taken from a neighbouring village like the rest of them.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” the woman said. “What an awful experience, but you must put that grief behind you now. Come inside, dear. Allow me to help you settle into your new life. Be grateful you have a chance to live and serve a great king.” She looked at Chuck and waved a hand. “I’ll take over now. Report back to the king. Farewell, Chuck.”

He bowed. “Farewell, Sheila.” He turned his back and walked away.

Once he was gone, Sheila opened the door then gestured for Lyra to follow. The building wasn’t as furnished as she thought it would be. She had expected something like her old house, but there were no paintings or decorations in sight. There was a fireplace and a wooden table that could seat ten people and a work bench with the tools for cooking. The other rooms were most likely used for sleeping.

“Although you are being trained for to act as a servant for the king, you will be sleeping here. Slaves are not allowed to sleep within the castle walls. Your room is the last one on the right,” Sheila said, raising a hand and drawing her attention to the end of the hall. “What is your name?”

“Lyra.”

“That’s a pretty name. One of the boys here mentioned the name. You could be her or perhaps not. Does the name Ethan sound familiar to you?”

Ethan. Yes, she recognized the name. Her childhood friend. Lyra nodded. “Yes, it does. We grew up in the same village.” And the boy had just disappeared one day. She hoped she had a chance to talk to him about that.

“Oh, excellent. Ethan!” she called out.

A young adult male entered the room. He was good foot taller than Lyra and dressed in a brown tunic, much like the one Chuck had been using. His brown hair fell just beneath the shoulders and there was even a trace of stubble on his chin.

“Sheila, we’ve got a problem with one of the horses out the back. I think it’s-Lyra?”

She stared back at him. “Ethan.”


	4. How We Survive

_“Not unto us, Blessed Divine, not unto us; but to your name be the glory,” the brotherhood chanted in unison, kneeling before the statue of the white stag. Its eyes were bright yellow as if the sun itself shone through them._

_The high priestess, Naoko, entered the room and stood before the statue, dressed in her clerical white robes. She wore a golden sash around her waist and a golden biretta to denote her status as leader of the priesthood of Ecruteak City. “You are the clerics of the Order of Ash Your mind, body and heart belong to the Phoenix. You will serve the Phoenix until death,” the woman said._

_No one said a word. They had to wait for Naoko to give them the command._

_“Your task is simple. We must purge the world of those who do not believe. The heathens who worship the Blessed Divine. Three holy relics were taken from us during the war, and we must obtain them to strengthen our connection with the Phoenix. Morty, please stand. You have proven you are capable of succeeding in this task.”_

_A blond male climbed to his feet, tightening the purple scarf around his neck. “I’m honoured.”_

_“You will travel to Blackthorn City.”_

_He lifted a brow. “That is the heathen capital. They don’t believe in the Phoenix_

_The woman nodded, her black hair falling around her shoulders. “You have been chosen. You will use the Sight to reclaim what is ours.”_

_The Sight allowed him to draw on the powers of his faith to combat any threat. All it required was an offering of blood and magic could be harnessed. He bowed his head. “I won’t disappoint you.”_

_“The wicked must be cast down, and the heart of this corruption beats strongly in Blackthorn City. This evil must be purged from our holy land before we become consumed in darkness,” Naoko said, prompting other members of the Order of Ash to nod their heads. “Find the three holy relics and bring them home.”_

_He nodded again. “It will be done.”_

Morty dropped to his knees and parted the bushes with both hands. Peering through the opening, he spotted a family of four sitting around a campfire cooking a rabbit. There were two children, a boy and a girl who looked to be no older than six years of age. He dropped a hand to his belt, his fingers brushing up against his curved dagger. Fingers wrapping around the hilt of the blade, he withdrew it from its sheath and watched the family before him.

“I am sorry,” he murmured. “If only things could be different… But sacrifices are necessary. Blood is a power.” The parents had their backs turned and the children were too focused on their rabbit than to notice him approaching. He was only a few feet away now. Their deaths would be swift. They weren’t even armed. How foolish.

What others described as murder was a necessary sacrifice to the Order of Ash. Eliminate the weak. Drink their blood from the heart and feel empowered once more. He remained hidden behind the bushes continuing to watch the family.

“Mama, I think I heard something,” the girl said.

So much for being discrete.

“Just the wind, my dear,” the mother replied.

“I would’ve expected something more of a challenge,” Morty murmured. “You work in mysterious ways, Ho-Oh.” He pulled away from the bushes and crept around it, his eyes fixed on the family ahead.

The family hadn’t moved from their position. They were still sitting around the campfire cooking their food, completely oblivious to his presence. Perfect. They weren’t even armed. This would be easy. He emerged from the shadow and crept towards the adult male, his fingers gripping around the hilt of his dagger. He didn’t manage to make another step when the mother looked up from the fire, her dark eyes resting on his face.

She immediately rose to her feet. “Braydon! A bandit!”

“A bandit?” Morty replied curtly. “I’m more than that. I’m sorry I have to interrupt such a feast, but I’m afraid I can’t let it continue.” He moved swiftly towards the father, plunging his dagger into the back of the man’s spine before he could even react.

The man cried out as blade pierced flesh. The mother screamed, and the children looked on in terror. One of them burst into tears. How he hated the sound of sobbing. Such an awful noise. He pulled his dagger out and kicked the man in the back of the knees, forcing him to topple over face first onto the ground.

The mother dropped to her knees, tears rolling down her cheeks. She looked at him with pleading eyes as if that would change his mind. Still, he was interested in hearing what she had to say so he lowered his blade and waited. “Please! Spare the children! Take mine if you must but spare the children!”

So selfless, but oh so foolish. He raised his dagger and pointed the tip at her. “You don’t get to make deals. There’s only one being that decides your fate and it’s not Arceus. Your deaths will go to a great cause so do not feel sad.” He walked towards her. Poor commonfolk. So useless. He didn’t understand why Ho-Oh needed such weak souls, but he didn’t dare question his orders.

The woman didn’t even try to fight back. She had probably accepted her fate and saw no point in even trying to defend herself. That just showed to him that she was weak and unworthy of life. She wouldn’t even try to fight for her children. Pathetic.

“Why are you doing this?”

He dropped down to his knees and looked at her directly in the eyes. Reaching out both his hands, he placed them on her shoulders and said, “The world must be purified.” The last person who dared to disobey the Order’s wishes ended up losing a hand. He lowered the edge of the blade to her vulnerable throat and added, “Do not look so glum. Your death will only strengthen our faith.” Having grown tired of her simpering nature, Morty withdrew the blade from her neck. Pulling his back, he pointed the blade at her chest then plunged the weapon forward. The tip of the blade pierced the flesh between her breasts.

A gasp escaped her throat as her eyes widened. Hands immediately flew to her chest to attempt to bat away the blade, but her strength faded fast.

He slapped her hands away with his free hand then drove the blade in further, gazing deep into her eyes, watching her life fade away, a sense of calm overcoming him. Blood seeping out of the wound, he withdrew the blade and watched the woman fall to the ground. Within moments, her clothes were dyed red from the blood. He cleaned his dagger on the grass then climbed to his knees, giving the woman one last glance. “Your death will not be in vain,” he said, then turned his attention towards the two children.

As expected, both were staring at him with wide eyes, frozen with fear.

Taking the life of an adult didn’t bother him, but the murder of a child wasn’t so easy. Still, he had his orders and he could not defy the wishes of the Order. Fingers tightening around the hilt of his dagger, he took a step towards the children.

“Mother?” the girl said, eyes glancing down at the corpse, as if hoping she would awaken.

Foolish child. “She’s gone to a better place, child,” Morty said. “You can go with her. You can be together again. Wouldn’t you like that? To reunite with your mother once more? You’d be free of pain and suffering. Doesn’t that sound nice?” He continued to close the distance between them.

The girl’s brother grabbed his sister’s arm.

“Close your eyes. It will be over soon.”

The children could’ve run, but fear paralysed them. They were rooted in place waiting for the inevitable death.

He grabbed the boy first, fingers wrapping around his right arm, holding him in place. Before the child could react, Morty slashed his throat then released his grip, gently giving the boy a shove. He toppled over onto his backside, his hands clutching at his throat, as if that would somehow make things better.

The girl screamed.

Annoyed at the shrill cry, Morty knocked her down over onto the grass then straddled her waist. He put his dagger down before wrapping his hands around her neck. “May you find peace in death,” he murmured, tightening his hold.

The girl tried to pry his hands off, but she lacked the strength.

Morty kept his hands in place until she had taken her final breath. Moving his left hand to the side of her neck, he checked for a pulse and found none. Satisfied, he removed both hands then climbed off her, rising to his feet.

He shifted his attention to the mother. All he needed was to draw blood from the heart and consume it. Gazing over his shoulder, he made sure no one else was around before kneeling before the corpse, his blade raised above the heart. He brought it crashing down to better pierce the flesh.

Blood was power.

A smile spread across her face. “Ethan!”

He returned her smile with one of his own. “Lyra, it is you. Arceus, I never thought I’d see you again,” he exclaimed, moving towards her, his arms open and welcoming. He opened his arms and she walked into his embrace. His smile then faded. “The bandits.”

She broke free of his arms and nodded. “You didn’t return, and I assumed the worst. I am glad to see that is not the case.” As if remembering she wasn’t alone, Lyra turned her head to the side and looked at Sheila. Although the elderly woman did not seem bothered by their display of friendship. Lyra reminded herself she too was a slave here – she was not a free person.

“Ethan, please take her to room. I must meet with the King, but I will return before the sun has set,” the woman said. “Do not wander too far.” She took her leave.

Her sudden departure struck Lyra as strange considering she had only just arrived, but she supposed the woman trusted Ethan enough that he would not try to get her out of the castle.

Ethan waited until the woman had left before speaking again. His expression now serious, he said, “Why are you here, Lyra? What happened?”

“You guessed it. Bandits. Our village was attacked. My mother…” she paused, recalling her mother’s death then winced at the painful memory, “…was killed by bandits. They took me in… Said I would make a great slave… And so I was brought here. Like we all are. All roads lead to the same destination.” Blackthorn Castle.

“I’m sorry about your mother.”

Her lower lip trembled as she fought to hold back tears. “She was right… She always said one day our peaceful lives would soon end…”

“You’re going to be safe here, Lyra. No one will hurt you.”

Her thoughts drifted back to Silver at the auction and his words regarding how some slaves were treated. “Are you sure? Because I met a boy at the auction place, and he would disagree with you. We’re slaves, Ethan.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder as if to provide comfort. “You won’t find that mistreatment here under the King’s watchful eye. You will be paid, and you will be protected. We are safe here, Lyra. My life has never been better.”

She searched his eyes, trying to find a glimpse of hesitance and doubt within them, but found nothing. Ethan seemed to genuinely believe he was safe here, but did he not miss the life they had in the village? “That might be true… But I find it hard to believe. You value this life over the one we had back at home? Our real home? There were no slaves. There were no soldiers. We were free. We were in control of our lives… And you’re saying this is better than that?”

Ethan pulled back his hand. Drawing in a deep breath, he said, “We don’t have bandits to fear, Lyra. Look at what happened to your mother. Our home was never safe.” He then raised his hands and pointed upwards at the ceiling. “This is home. We’re safe within these walls. No army has the numbers to bring down this fortress. I understand that you are nervous, but trust me… You’ve got nothing to be concerned about. We serve the King well and he treats us kindly in return. He is not a cruel man. You will see for yourself.”

She wasn’t entirely convinced, but Ethan was a stubborn man and he wasn’t going to change his mind. Better to drop the subject entirely than to keep pestering him about it. Pushing aside thoughts of her mother and slavery, she said, “What do you do here? What should I be aware of?”

He gestured towards the door. “I’ll show you around the city, so you know important locations,” he said, as he motioned for her to follow him.

Lyra started moving as Ethan continued his explanation. “Okay.

“The city is divided into four districts. We’re in the Royal Quarters. To the east, we have what is known as the Thorns. That’s where the soldiers gather for training. To the west, we have Blacklake. As the name suggests, there’s a small lake there and a lot of the city folk gather around for festivals and entertainment. A tavern known as the Board Laid Bare can be found there and it’s the most popular one in the city. To the south, which is where you entered from, is the Market District. And finally, to the north of the castle, is the Residential District where most people make their homes. Outside the castle walls we have farmland.”

Lyra nodded. “Are slaves allowed to go to the tavern?”

“Only if their masters allow it,” Ethan replied. “Some masters think their slaves will meet with other slaves and plan a revolt. Only slaves that have been mistreated would think to revolt, but you’ll be relieved to know Sheila is not like that at all. She will allow us to visit the tavern at certain hours of the day. We’re only allowed to visit an hour before the sun has set and only once we’ve finished our tasks for the day. I can take you there now – you should meet with the tavern owner after all. He’s our main source of gossip and you’ll be making plenty of trips there anyway, so let’s go.” He pushed open the door and stepped outside.

She was starting to see why Ethan was satisfied with the current life. Although he was a slave, he seemed to have some freedom. For now. “Lead the way.”

Lance dropped onto his knees and peered down at the ground before him, his dark eyes fixed on a trail of pawprints. He reached down his right hand, fingers gently touching the muddy tracks, tracing the outline. Wolf prints. He frowned. The last wolf he had seen had been over five years ago. Edward often sent Lance and a small group of men to the woods on hunting trips to purify the land of the mages, but not the wolves.

He wasn’t sure why Edward feared the wolves so much. It wasn’t as if the wolves could do anything. They had no home. No castle. No army. No leader. Nothing. It wasn’t as if they had received reports of wolves running rampant across the region attacking people. Still, he didn’t dare refuse his grandfather’s orders.

“You know, I’m going to miss our little adventures together,” his companion said.

Lance glanced up. Bruno, his closest friend, was leaning against a tree trunk, his thick arms folded across his chest. “What do you mean?”

The man pulled away from the tree, unfolding his arms letting them drop to his sides. “I’m resigning, Lance. My service to your grandfather is done.” He pushed his long dark hair back over his shoulder.

Rising to his feet, Lance frowned and said, “But you can’t just leave. We swore an oath to serve.” All men who wanted to serve in the king’s army had to swear an oath upon joining the Dragonite Order. “I will not marry, nor indulge in pleasures of the flesh. I will fight for as long as my body allows it. I submit myself to the king.”

Bruno shook his head. “And I have no interest in spilling blood, Lance. What have we achieved over the years? So, we’ve slain a few mages, but to what benefit? And the wolves too – this is what? The first set of wolf prints we’ve seen in the past decade. What does that tell you? They’re not a threat. What exactly do you hope to achieve, Lance?”

“We have orders. Wolves and mages pose a threat to the safety of our kingdom, and they must be stopped. If we ever want to safe, all threats must be eliminated. That’s why we are here. We’re culling their numbers,” Lance explained using the exact same words his grandfather had used when explaining why the mages must be stopped.

Rolling his eyes, Bruno snorted. “You know that is a piss poor excuse. You don’t even know why you are doing these raids… You do it because you’re an obedient grandson, but you don’t ask the questions.” He sighed and gestured at the paw prints. “Those wolves are smart enough not to try and challenge us outside a full moon night. As strong as they are rumoured to be, I don’t think they’ll want to fight you. You’ve slain a wolf before.”

“Years ago in my first year as a knight,” Lance replied. He had been exploring the forest tracking down a rogue mage when a young male had approached him. The boy had a maddened gleam in his eyes and a hint of yellow in them. A werewolf. Lance had driven a blade through the boy’s heart. “It wasn’t a fair fight. He was just a kid.”

“A werewolf, Lance.”

“A teenager, Bruno. He wasn’t carrying a sword even. Not a real challenge.”

“Yet your grandfather thought it was a marvellous achievement and thus you were knighted the next morning. I was there.”

Lance glanced down at his sword. Unlike other blades, his weapon could not be destroyed. It had bene forged with dragon’s fire centuries ago and passed down from generation to generation. His grandfather had given him the blade as a gift at his knighting ceremony. “An underserved knighting.”

“Arceus favours you.”

“And I don’t know why. I’m no different to any other man with a sword.”

“You have king’s blood in your veins. That makes you important.”

“And it doesn’t grant me magical powers or enhanced strength.”

Bruno snorted. “You’re stronger than any man your age, Lance. You can even defeat opponents older and more experienced than you. Don’t you find that odd? You could argue you’re just committed to becoming the best, but I’ve never seen no man fight as well as you can. You always seem to have quicker reaction times. You don’t tire so easily. You even heal faster. Arceus has blessed you.”

“And is that why you’re leaving the army then?” Lance replied with a frown. “Because you see no need to continue fighting. I can stop you from leaving. I’m the knight-commander.”

“That’s an abuse of power, Lance.”

“What are you going to do then?”

“Marry a beautiful girl and build a house for my family in the countryside far away from the kingdom. Isn’t that the life we all want if we had the choice? To be far away from war and live in the comfort of your own home with the people that you love? It is what I have always dreamed of.” Bruno stretched his arms to the side then dropped a hand to his blade’s hilt on the right side of his waist. “Have you ever thought of retiring?”

Lance shook his head. “I swore an oath, Bruno. I will continue fighting until I can no longer use a sword. I’ll marry as an old man.”

“And I feel sorry for that young woman.”

“And do you believe my grandfather will just let you walk away?”

With a roll of his eyes, Bruno shook his head. “Of course not. I don’t intend to tell him. I’m just going to leave and he’s not going to find me because you’re not going to come searching.”

Lance looked at him in disbelief. “I could make you stay.” Keep Bruno in chains and locked away in the dungeons below the castle – but he wasn’t cruel. Bruno had raised some good points. Freedom of choice, love and peace. Three things that weren’t obtained through service in the military.

“You won’t say anything will you?” Bruno said.

He shook his head. “No, I won’t. I’m not going to stop you from pursuing a life elsewhere. I just hope that the path you choose ends up a rewarding one. I will miss your company – you’ve been a loyal soldier of my grandfather’s army for over a decade now.” One of the longest serving to be precise. Both he and Lance had joined the army around the same time and together had undergone many missions involving hunting the druids.

“I’ll be sure to send letters to keep you informed of my journeys.”

Lance nodded. “And I look forward to reading them.”

“What are you going to do, Lance? You can’t fight this war forever. Eventually, age will catch up with you and you’ll have to consider other options. Settling down, having a family…”

“I swore an oath, Bruno. The same one you did. Except I don’t plan on abandoning it. Grandfather understands. Until that day comes, grandfather wants Clair to marry to form an alliance with other powerful families.”

Bruno frowned. “Wait. Clair? I don’t mean any offense, but Clair? She’s not exactly… what I would call wife material.”

The same words Clair often repeated to their grandfather when he was giving her the future of the family lecture. Unlike most of the maids whom served his family, Clair had no interest in marriage and raising children. She preferred engaging in masculine activity such as wrestling and discussing battle strategies and often he would find her sneaking into the gladiator arena to speak with the fighters.

“Better not let her hear you say that…. Even though your words are true.”

Bruno’s expression remained stern. “But you are serious? This is your life?”

“I’ve chosen this life,” Lance replied, turning his back and looking towards the castle. He could see the highest tower in the distance. “I’m not in a position to refuse my grandfather’s orders… The king’s orders may I remind you.”

Bruno snorted. “And you don’t have a problem with that? You’re just going to blindly follow your grandfather’s wishes?”

Turning back around, Lance frowned. “My mother died during childbirth, and my father had left after I had been born. That’s what grandfather told me. I was showing signs of an illness, grandfather said. That’s why father walked out on me. Didn’t want a sick child. Grandfather could’ve had me killed as they do with sick children, but he believed in me. And here I am. I owe my life to him.”

“I’m sorry… I didn’t know.”

“No one outside my family does… and I’d rather not discuss it. My father left. He was a breaker of oaths, grandfather said. That’s why he was a sell sword who had come to this city looking for some work, but instead he met my mother and stayed.” He paused then snorted. Edward had such little respect for the man he hadn’t even mentioned what his name was. “I have no interest in finding him. I don’t even want to know his name. The less I know the better. All I know is I swore to better than that.”

Lance turned away from Bruno and focused his eyes on the path ahead, not liking where the conversation was heading. His upbringing wasn’t something he liked to discuss. Instead, he focused his attention on finding footprints belonging to the wolves. He scanned the dirt. There. Some footprints. He moved closer then dropped down on one knee for a closer look. Not wolf prints, but human.

“They could be in their human form?” Bruno suggested.

“Let’s see where they lead.” Lance climbed to his feet and followed the track. Wolf prints would normally lead to a corpse of either human or animal. Corpses of a victim of a wolf were mutilated making it difficult to identify the faces. The tracks stopped in a clearing. Three bodies. An adult and two children. “Clean kills,” Lance remarked.

“Yes… to an extent,” Bruno said. “The corpses are intact.”

“Which means it wasn’t the work of the wolves…” Lance kneeled beside the adult for a closer look. A stab wound in the chest, and a five-pointed star drawn in blood on the foreheads. “Not a typical mage. They wouldn’t use a knife to kill someone when they could just use magic for a cleaner death.”

“Then who else could it be? Bandits? You know there are a few rogue soldiers around the region preying on the helpless.”

Lance shook his head. “No. A bandit wouldn’t just murder someone. They would keep a person hostage or sell them as a slave. A dead person is of no use to a bandit.” He frowned, his eyes moving towards the children. “It takes a person with a cold heart to kill an innocent child. I don’t know what they were hoping to achieve.”

“Perhaps their murderer was looking for food?” Bruno said, tilting his head towards the nearby fireplace. “He came across this camp, didn’t want to share and killed them.”

Lance climbed to his feet. “Perhaps… But I believe there is a more sinister motive here.”

“What? You think there’s a cult here at work?”

“Necromancy,” Lance replied with a frown. “But we haven’t seen them in decades. Yet I’ve seen this five-pointed star in Koga’s books before.” Necromancy was supposedly a dead school of magic – his grandfather had stated all the necromancers had been killed centuries ago and their knowledge of the magic had died with them. “We haven’t seen any signs of necromancer activity in decades. Not since the war that won my great grandfather the throne,” Lance stated.

“We can’t rule it out. You should probably tell your grandfather. Best he’s informed of this sighting.”

He couldn’t argue with that. Edward would probably send him on another scouting mission to find more clues. If the threat of necromancy proved to be real, then they would be facing a battle on two sides – the mages and the wolves and the dark magic of the necromancers. “If these clues turn out to be something greater… Would that lure you back to the kingdom?”

“It would. It’s something that would threaten the entire region.”

“Then I’ll be sure to keep your informed of our progress.” He glanced down at the corpses again and sighed. As much as he would’ve liked to have given them a proper burial, his grandfather would not allow non-Blackthorn citizens to be buried within their castle walls. He also didn’t have the tools to bury them here in the forest and questions would be asked of him should he leave the city with the necessary equipment to bury the dead. No one cared about the outsiders until they became a threat. “We should return at once.”

“And leave the dead?”

“The sun will be setting soon, and I would rather not be here at night when dangerous creatures lurk in the forests. They know these woods better than we do,” Lance reasoned. It wasn’t just the mages they had to contend with – there were other threats that lurked in the shadows such as the wild boars and bears.

Bruno nodded. “indeed.” He didn’t say another word and walked towards the forest boundary in silence. Lance spared another glance at the family then turned around and followed Bruno.


	5. Unsettling Rumours

Morty was supposed to be on his way to Blackthorn City, but the journey was long, and he needed rest. Travelling by foot was exhausting even for a mage. There were no spells to reduce fatigue, and his people did not have horses. Fortunately, Cherrygrove City was nearby. It was one of the smaller cities in the region. It was rumoured less than a hundred people lived here. The city was known for its cherry-coloured wood, and it was their main export.

He headed to the local tavern, placing his weapons back in their sheaths before heading inside. Soldiers and mercenaries often passed through the small city, but still the sight of one made the locals weary. It made them think there was danger nearby. Pulling the hood over his head, he walked to the farthest table away from the counter and sat down. The tavern was quite small, but lively. There was a total of eight round tables with four stools each, and each one was occupied save for the one he was sitting at. Three women dressed in plain brown dresses brought food and drinks out to the customers.

One of the women kept looking in his direction. Morty didn’t much notice of her. He hadn’t come to the tavern to meet women like many other soldiers did. What did people have to gain out of a single night of pleasure? It didn’t benefit anyone. What a waste of time. He saw one of the soldiers exchanging smiles with one of the women. Morty looked away. _Pathetic fools_ , he thought. How many of them had ever killed a man before? Or did they just carry their swords for decoration?

A man sat down at this table across from him. A muscle twitched in Morty’s jaw. Right. The man hadn’t even bothered to ask. If this wasn’t a public place, he would’ve killed that man. He studied the man opposite to him. Short light brown hair. A scraggly beard. Crystal blue eyes. A purple tunic of all things. And the unmissable horizontal scar across his right cheekbone. He knew this man. Eusine. His old friend from Ecruteak. A foolish man who had failed to pass the first trial.

“Morty? That you?”

“Yes, unfortunately. What are you doing here?”

Eusine leaned forward. “Funny that. I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“I’m here for business reasons.”

“Oh. I didn’t think the Brotherhood would send us to a tavern. Aren’t you supposed to be heading to Blackthorn?”

Morty glared and narrowed his eyes. “I _was_ , but I decided to take a short break. Besides. It’s cloudy and I don’t want to get caught in the rain. Not fun walking through mud. Why are you here? I didn’t realize you were on a mission.”

The boy returned a smug look. “After you were sent to Blackthorn, Naoko told me I was being assigned to Azalea Town to meet with our spy, Will. One of our longest serving members disappeared a few months back, and I’ve been asked to investigate and solve the issue. Will says there are some strange noises down the well at night. Sometimes, people even go missing.”

“Will?” Morty repeated, uncertain. The name was foreign to him.

“Yes, Morty, Will. I have friends. You two would get on quite well. You’re both dry as a desert,” he commented, leaning back in his chair. “He’s one of those treasure hunters, and travels from place to place learning as much as he can. He told me about the problem in Azalea as I was passing through. I thought you might be interested.”

“And why would I even care? Isn’t this task assigned to you, Eusin? So, convince me, why would I want to help you complete your task when I have my own?” Though, he was curious to learn more. If he could bring back something of importance to the Brotherhood upon his return, it might be enough to promote him to a higher rank.

Eusine turned away, looking for one of the waitresses. He called one over. “She’s a beauty that one,” he said.

Now Morty looked. Eusine was looking at a dark-skinned woman with short brown hair. The woman wore two pink flowers behind her ears. She swayed her hips as she walked across the floor, smiling at every man who looked her way.

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re wasting your time.”

Eusine looked at him with a scowl. “Must everything you say be so condescending?”

Morty shrugged. “You asked for my opinion.”

Rolling his eyes, Eusine shifted attention back towards the woman. “Have you never been with a woman before? You know these girls are always happy to tend to serve.”

“And waste my hard-earned coin? No. I’ll pass.”

“I take that as a no then. Still sour over Whitney?”

At the mention of Whitney, Morty tightened his jaw. “I never cared.”

“Then why not take this girl for a night? I’ll even pay. Maybe it’ll lighten your mood.”

“Would you like to find a sword in your back?”

Eusine looked at him again. “You’re a moody cynical bastard.”

“And yet you are asking for my help. Choose your words carefully, Eusine.”

“Fine. If you don’t want her, I’ll have her.” Again, he called the girl over. This time, she noticed. “Hello there! I must say you look stunning. Those flowers. I’ve never seen anything like them before.”

“Oh,” she replied, bringing a hand to one of the pink petals. “They’re called azaleas.”

“You’re from Azalea Town then?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m actually from Hoenn. I’m just here to get away from the troubles back at home, that’s all.” She turned her attention to Morty.

Morty gave her a blank stare.

“You look like you need something strong.”

“I’m sure it’ll help. I’ll have whatever.”

“Oh, me too,” Eusine chirped. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

The woman’s eyes lingered on Morty’s face for a few moments before nodding and turning away.

Morty watched her retreat, frowning. Did she know him? Perhaps she was one of the Order’s contacts. Sometimes he stationed spies in towns and cities.

“Did you change your mind about her? She seems interested in you. Even back at home, women seemed interested in you. I don’t know why though,” he added, seeming disappointed.

“I’m not interested in bedding anyone.”

“Well, your loss. Thought it might help you cope.”

“I don’t need help coping with anything.”

“You surround yourself with death, but I know the truth.”

Morty glared. “You have no idea what you are talking about it.”

“I do. We grew up in the same village. I was there when you passed your trials. I was there when Naoko accepted you into the inner circle. I was also there when Whitney was buried. You said you didn’t care – that it had to be done. She had to die for you to ascend. But I don’t think you’ve ever forgiven yourself.”

“You know what? I’ve changed my mind.” Morty stood up.

Eusine also rose to his feet and placed a hand on the table. “I need your help. No one else will. I promise I’ll stop talking about her… but a distraction could do you some good. I’ll see you in the morning in Azalea Town outside the well. It’s a short walk to the east from here. Just follow the path.” He placed a few coins on the table and walked off. Morty sighed. He looked in the woman’s direction again. Eusine had called her a distraction. Whitney had been a distraction too. It’s why she had to be the one to die. It was Whitney or the Order.

He leaned back in his chair. So full of life she had been. Always positive. Always smiling. She didn’t care he was a mage. She didn’t believe mages were bad. How you were born did not define you. The future had looked bright. But then Naoko and her sisters had come came along and enlisted him. Whitney interfered with those plans. A distraction Naoko had called her. She had to die for Morty to ascend and be accepted. He chose power.

The woman returned with the drinks. He didn’t even thank her, too distracted by his own thoughts. She said something, but he wasn’t paying attention. She walked away to find better company. Lost in his own thoughts, he picked up the mug and took a swig. Sweet. Very sweet. He put it down again. The quicker he returned to work, the better for his mind. Moments of silence allowed the past to rear its ugly head. He didn’t even finish his drink. Leaving a few coins on the table, he stood up and left the building. This wasn’t the distraction he needed. Spilling blood was more productive.

* * *

Edward was easy to find. He was in his usual spot – the Meeting Room. All conversations regarding military, politics and economics took place here, and often only involved no more than five people including the king himself. Sometimes the mayors of the local towns were summoned to attend a private discussion with the king, but usually meetings involved people within the city who held important positions.

“Grandfather, I bring dire news,” Lance said from behind the wooden door. He heard movement of footsteps then the sound of a key being inserted into a keyhole. The door swung open. Lance raised an eyebrow. “Since when did you start locking the door to the council room?”

“An insurance policy, that is all,” Edward answered stepping aside. “What news do you bring?”

Lance stepped through the door then closed it behind him. “Bruno and I discovered three bodies in the woods to the east. An adult female and two children, a boy and a girl. Not the work of the wolves because the bodies could be identified, but the work of someone else. You told me the necromancers were no longer a threat, but what if that is no longer the case?”

His grandfather shook his head.

Lance noted the black bags beneath his eyes. Strange. It wasn’t as if the kingdom was facing any major threat so what could be causing enough stress that would give the man issues sleeping?

“Necromancy is a dead school of magic. No one has practiced it in centuries. Don’t you think if necromancy had returned, we would have seen sightings of the dead living again?” Edward replied.

Lance wasn’t convinced. “What if they are in hiding and simply biding their time, waiting for the right moment to strike? Their defeat decades ago would’ve taught them to stay in the shadows. We should keep an eye out for them, grandfather.”

Again, Edward shook his head, then rubbed his chin. “No. There are other important matters to attend to than searching for evidence of a cult long dead. The cult fell when their leader fell.” His grandfather walked towards one of the open windows. “I received a letter from Pryce about a problem at the Lake of Rage. You are to travel alone and visit Mahogany Town to address this issue.”

“What sort of problem?” Lance decided not to raise the matter of the wolf prints either.

The man turned away from the window and said, “He didn’t go into much detail, but he mentioned something along the lines of a strange creature having taken residence. The villagers use the water from the lake for food and cleaning necessities, but this creature is preventing that. We receive fish from our allies there and we can’t afford this disruption.”

Like an obedient grandson and loyal knight, Lance nodded. Clearly, his grandfather was not interested in discussing the necromancers. Perhaps he would be more open to discussion once this problem was solved. “Then I will investigate and resolve this problem. But I must ask – should I not bring more soldiers with me?”

Edward shook his head. “This is a task for you alone.”

Perhaps his grandfather knew more about this threat than he was letting on, but Lance didn’t push. He viewed it as a challenge. “Of course.”

“I knew you would not refuse.” Edward gave him a brief smile then added, “I wish Clair was as obedient as you. You must speak with her and convince her that this marriage will benefit the family greatly.”

“Clair has her own mind, grandfather. She can make decisions for herself – she doesn’t need you making them for her. If you force her into this marriage, she won’t be happy and then you’ll lose her for good,” Lance explained.

Clair loved their grandfather, but she didn’t like having control taken away from her. She wasn’t someone who could adjust to marriage life – she had a free and restless spirit and such a life would only cause her to seek trouble elsewhere. Clair liked to push boundaries, and she would continue to push.

“Is that what you want? For your own granddaughter to despise you?”

Edward sighed, wiping his forehead with his right hand. “You must understand. This marriage will secure our family’s future. The Blackthorn name can’t be forgotten.”

Lance raised a brow. “And you honestly think Clair will settle for the family life? If that is what you think then you don’t know her well at all.”

“She listens to you, Lance,” Edward replied, his tone almost pleading.

“I’m not going to try and persuade her to change her mind.” Lance turned his back and headed towards the door when he felt a hand grab his arm. Holding back a sigh, Lance turned around to face his grandfather once more. “You want to take her freedom. As if her freedoms aren’t already limited. You wish to take more.”

Although Clair was part of a royal bloodline, she was still restricted to a woman’s role in society. Women weren’t allowed to join the military nor were they allowed to vote. A women’s only role was to serve the family and look after the children and their husbands.

Edward released his grip. “I want what is best for her.”

Lance shook his head. “No, you want what is best for you. I don’t want to argue with you, grandfather, and I know you care about Clair… But you can’t force her to marry someone that is not of her choosing. What exactly is this marriage going to achieve? A brief alliance with King Alder’s family in Unova until they tire of Clair?”

“That is out of the question, Lance. No royal couple will separate when children are involved.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Children? Clair?” He forced a laugh. “You really do not know Clair well at all because if you did, you would know having children is the last thing on her mind. She is not like her mother, grandfather.”

Although he had only met Clair’s mother once, he had heard many stories about her. She always put her family above everyone else and desired nothing but settling down and having a family of her own. The total opposite of Clair.

“She will understand in time,” Edward said.

Lance scoffed, then narrowed his eyes. “She’s not her mother,” he repeated. After a pause, he drew in his breath to calm himself then added, “I should prepare for the journey to Mahogany. Do take care of yourself, grandfather.” Without giving his grandfather a chance to respond, Lance opened the door and exited.

* * *

Every time Clair visited the markets, she always found something that grabbed her interest. Today was no different. She could spend hours just browsing each stall. Sometimes she would buy objects just because she could; other times she would spend money to prevent other people from purchasing them even if she had no need for them. Of course, her actions led to having an unfavourable opinion from the public, but she didn’t care. If her grandfather remained king, no one would dare harm her or risk incurring his wrath, so she was free to spend her money at will.

“Are you serious? Your grandfather wants you to marry that fool, Benga?” Karen scoffed.

Clair nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. He says it will be for the good of the family’s legacy, but he fails to see it from my point of view. He only thinks about himself. I don’t even get a say in this and it’s my body he wants to marry off! You’d think I’d be entitled to an opinion. Benga is supposed to be arriving this week, so he and I can have some time to get to know each other. How pathetic is that?”

Karen raised a brow. “Benga? The Unovan Prince? Your grandfather wants you to marry that?” She stifled a laugh. “You know, I’ve heard so many stories about him from other women. Word travels far. They say he’s all just talk and no action. Sounds like a dull life if you ask me,” she said, giving Clair a lopsided grin. “So. What are you going to do about it? Don’t tell me you actually have to marry him.”

“I don’t get a choice, Karen. Believe me, if I had a say in whom I married, Benga wouldn’t be anywhere near the top of my list.” She didn’t know much about the Prince of Unova. She never cared to listen to her grandfather’s talks about the other leaders. “…How do you know so much about him anyway? You haven’t even been to Unova.”

“Have you ever visited the tavern?”

Clair shook her head. “Of course not. My grandfather would not allow it. He says the tavern is home to people who have ill intentions that like to gossip.” It was no secret her grandfather despised the tavern. It was a place for people to come together and gossip or as her grandfather called it, ‘spreading poison’. She had always wanted to visit the tavern, but Lance would never take her, and no other soldier would risk taking her there and incurring the king’s wrath. Sneaking in and disguising herself as a man was also too risky – her face was too well recognized.

“Wow. You haven’t lived at all. Abandon all your plans – you are coming to the tavern with me.”

“And how are we supposed to even get in? You know what the law states. Besides, people will recognize me.”

Rolling her eyes, Karen said, “I wouldn’t be bringing you along without a plan you know.” She grabbed Clair’s right arm and pulled her towards the right. “A woman called Agatha arrived in town recently. You’ve probably heard of her before – she’s known as the Hag. A nasty old crone she is, but she does make powerful potions for a price.”

“The most talented in all of the region, I’ve heard,” Clair replied then frowned. “Grandfather had tried to appoint her as the surgeon, but she turned down the role. He’s been looking for her ever since… And now you’re telling me she’s here on our castle grounds?”

Karen nodded. “She doesn’t stay for long and she conceals herself well.”

“What? Using magic?”

Karen looked hesitant to speak more.

Clair sighed. “I’m not my grandfather, Karen. I don’t fear magic like he does. You think I’m going to tell him Agatha is in town? He’s always trying to ruin my fun. This could be my last chance to do something with my life. So, let’s visit Agatha. How do you even know she is here anyway?”

“Tavern gossip. Soldiers. I always know how to get information from people.

Clair didn’t pry for details. Knowing Karen, she had probably offered her body in exchange for services and information. “So, what exactly does this potion do anyway?”

“You’ll see it for yourself. Come this way.”

Clair didn’t ask more questions. She had to trust that Karen had taken this potion before or at least had seen firsthand its effects. Karen led the way through the crowded streets towards what was typically seen as the lower end of the commoner class. The average commoner worked on the farms, went hunting in the woods or chopped down trees, whilst the educated worked as smithies, clerics or soldiers. Uneducated women often turned to prostitution to earn money to help raise their families.

She followed Karen through the winding paths of the cobblestone streets until they reached the apothecary. The building was easily identified by the bushes that formed a fence around it. No other building within the kingdom had a wall. She supposed the bushes had been specifically planted that way to reduce the chances of theft. There was no way to climb over them or part the bushes to make a wide enough opening to crawl through, and the branches were also lined with sharp thorns. Even a gentle brush against them would pierce flesh. Some people even believed they were poisonous. The only way to reach the entrance was through the small opening in the hedge fence.

Karen approached the door and knocked three times. At first, there was silence, but moments later the door opened.

An elderly woman with a vertical scar on her right eye stood before them. She did not greet them with a smile, but rather with a cold, calculating look, as if annoyed by the sudden disturbance. Her eyes shifted from Clair to Karen then back to Clair again. “I know you. You are the king’s granddaughter.”

“Yes, that’s me, Clair.”

The woman didn’t seem impressed. “What do you want?”

Slightly annoyed, Clair folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes. She was about to open her mouth and demand better treatment from the old crone, but Karen spoke first, as if she expected Clair to make a complaint.

“We have come to you to ask for a disguise. We’ve heard much about your magic and that is why we’ve come directly to you,” Karen explained. After a pause, she added, “We can pay you good coin.” As if that would convince Agatha to help them.

 _Her_ good coin. Karen wasn’t poor. But she certainly wasn’t rich either. “How much will it cost?” Clair said, as she felt Karen gently nudge her in the ribs.

The elderly woman shifted her gaze back and forth until resting on Clair. “Twenty gold per person.”

That was more coin than an educated person would earn in a year. She hoped Agatha’s magic was as good as Karen claimed it to be. Otherwise she would be ordering for the woman’s head to be chopped off. No one made a fool of her and she certainly didn’t like her money going to waste. Clair dropped a hand to her satchel hanging off to the side of her right hip and grabbed two bags of gold coins. Each one held exactly twenty gold coins. She always came prepared. “This better be worth it,” she said, handing the money bags over to the woman.

The woman’s eyebrows arched up. It seemed she hadn’t been expecting them to afford the cost. “You are eager,” the woman said, dark eyes boring into Clair’s own. “This is powerful magic, and as such there will be side effects. This disguise is temporary – when you feel a warm burn under your skin, you must leave at once or your true faces will be revealed. Are you sure you wish to proceed?”

Karen nodded. “Of course. We wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“Then come inside where we may proceed behind closed doors.” She stepped aside allowing them to enter.

There was a bitter scent in the room. Clair couldn’t quite tell what it was, but the smell was strong. Doubt filled her as the door closed behind her. Her grandfather had always said magic could not be trusted; that magic destroyed lives; but here she was ready to allow this magic to enter her system. The woman had mentioned there would be side effects. She turned her head sideways and caught Karen’s eye.

“This is going to be great,” Karen said. “You’re not afraid, are you?”

Clair snorted. “Of course not. I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Karen grinned. “I’ve got nothing to be afraid of.” She pulled away.

Clair didn’t say another word and followed Karen. The building wasn’t much different from the standard hut the commoners lived in. There was one room for sleeping, another room for cooking and the dining area where the family would come together and eat their food on a wooden table before the fireplace. The only room the typical hut did not have was the surgery area and this was simply a bed and a table to keep the surgical equipment. It was also where the potions were made to treat wounds and other illnesses.

Agatha was waiting for them. She pointed to two chairs. “Take a seat. I will return shortly with the potions you must drink. Do not touch anything.” She took her leave as both Clair and Karen took their seats.

The room was dark and plain. Unlike her own room, the building’s walls were plain – her own room had decorated wallpaper to give it colour. The walls in this building were a dull grey. _How depressing,_ she thought. On the table, she saw many plain copper jars, each one with text on it. One read ‘snails’ and another read ‘goat hearts’. She made a face. Gross.

Karen also seemed to share the same thought as she made a faint gagging noise.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this. The tavern better be worth it,” Clair complained, scrunching up her face.

“I’m sure it will,” Karen said, hands resting on her lap. “We’re going to have so much fun. We can do whatever and no one is going to recognize us.”

Clair didn’t respond, lost in her own thoughts. She hoped Karen was right. After all, she’d hate to see good coin go to waste.

* * *

The tavern was much larger than Lyra had imagined, and far livelier than she had been expecting. The building was four storeys tall and made from a mixture of wood, stone and brick. A wooden sign hanging above the entrance read, ‘The Board Laid Bare’. Ethan had mentioned earlier this was the most popular tavern in all of Blackthorn. She could hear the raucous laughter from within and the smell of beer, mead and ale sifting through the open windows.

“I know it sounds like a lot…. But don’t be intimidated. Just don’t talk to anyone you don’t recognize. Sometimes people stop acting like themselves after they have drunk too much, and they may interpret your words to mean something else and then you’ll be in trouble. Just stay close and they won’t be a problem.” Ethan approached the door then pushed it open.

Lyra followed him through and scrunched up her face at the strong scent of ale. A few people looked in their direction, but their glances were short lived.

Ethan navigated through the crowd, guiding her towards the counter.

As she followed him, she took note of their surroundings. There were twelve circular wooden tables with two benches that could each fit five people and a fireplace to the north east which currently had a large pig roasting on the spit. Large barrels of wine were positioned to the western corner near one of the open windows which provided the only source of light. The floor itself was made from planks of wood.

“Well, look who it is, Ethan, and you brought a fine lass with you too!”

Lyra pulled her attention away from her surroundings and turned towards the speaker. He was standing behind the counter, one hand on a silver goblet, the other resting on the counter. This must be the one Ethan had called Gary. He was a fine-looking man with messy brown hair and dark eyes. He seemed to have a permanent grin on his face, as if always amused by something. His eyes locked on hers and she could’ve sworn he winked.

“Don’t get any ideas, Gary. She’s new to this city,” Ethan replied, resting his elbows on the surface of the counter.

“Ah, one of the new slaves then? What a shame.”

Lyra frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I didn’t mean any offense… It’s just that… if you are with Ethan that means you’re going to end up in the castle serving as the maid of the royal family. Castle slaves are treated better than the average ones. Believe me. You should see some of the scars.” He turned away briefly to fill up someone’s drink then turned back to them again. “Anyway. One of the slaves who came in last week said he found something strange when he was helping his master chop down in trees in the woods. Said he came across some funny markings on a tree. You haven’t heard of such a thing before, have you?”

Ethan shook his head. “Are you sure this young lad wasn’t drunk?”

Gary rolled his eyes. “I’m just telling you what I heard.”

“So, what did these markings look like?”

“It was a five-pointed star,” he said.

“I’ve read about those starts before… in a story,” Ethan said.

Lifting an eyebrow, Lyra said, “Five-pointed stars? I’ve never heard of that one before. Tell me more.” A lie of course. She had seen the markings before that night when the wolves had attacked the bandits.

Ethan opened his mouth to reply, but Gary spoke first.

He grinned. “I’ll be happy to tell you. Decades ago, everyone practiced magic, right? Magic was used by everyone that knew how to use it. A man called Nathaniel arrived in the city with a man called Krahiya. Together, they built this school to teach magic. A third man was with them, but he had never been named.”

“Why is that?” Lyra said.

Gary shrugged. “His name has been scribbled out from the books. He started the Time of Troubles. So, they erased his name. It’s what they do with criminals here. Anyone who commits a heinous crime loses their identity. So, that’s why he has no name in history. This man found a way to manipulate blood to harm his enemies and heal himself. He started a school of his own and there were six others. This school was known as necromancy and he would mark his victims with a five-pointed star. That’s what the stories said. He was said to be the strongest of them all.”

A few more people lined up at the counter to order themselves a few tankards of ale. She wasn’t sure what people found so fascinating about drinking. To her, it was simply a waste of time and there were other things to focus on. But then again maybe after a few long hard days of work she’d feel tempted to indulge herself in some ale too. “And he betrayed their trust I assume?” Lyra said.

Gary shook his head. “He was struck down with the illness, and his students soon followed. They were marched out of the city in a single line, their arms and legs bound together by chain, as they were taken to a cave where they would be sealed away and left to die.” He paused, as if remembering the fallen then said, “Panic spread, and distrust towards mages started.”

“Because they thought mages were spreading it,” Ethan supplied.

A local walked up to the counter and placed their jug on the bench. Lyra could smell the cheap ale on his body and scrunched up her face. The man walked away all red in the face. “What happened next?” she said, turning back to Gary eager to learn more.

“No one knows,” Gary replied with another shrug. “Nathaniel and Krahiya both left once the plague had spread to their own students. People say they too had succumbed and died far away from the walls. Others say they had killed themselves in a sealed tomb of magic to prevent people from robbing their graves. Mages were driven out. A few decades later Henry Blackthorn claimed the throne and tried to rebuild the alliance between us and the mages. He was later struck down with poison in his tea. His son, Edward Blackthorn claimed the throne at twelve years of age and declared all mages must die. This came to be known as the Time of Troubles,” Gary explained, taking the jug away on the shelf behind the counter.

“Any person found practicing magic will be executed at dawn before the mob,” Ethan interjected. “The king sends out groups of soldiers to scout the lands to make sure no mage threatens them.”

Frowning, Lyra said, “But who poisoned the king? And how could anyone do that without anyone noticing?”

“All it takes is for someone to tamper with the food, and anyone could be poisoned,” Gary said. He gestured to the people in the tavern. “It didn’t cross anyone’s mind food could be contaminated by magic as the plague wasn’t passed through food, but through the air we breathe, and only mages were infected. This poisoning was in King Henry’s drink. A servant who had decided the king was a fool he no longer wanted to serve.”

Lyra glanced at the jug on the shelf. “We could be drinking poison then.”

Gary chuckled. “No mage would be foolish enough to stay within the city walls., nor would anyone want to try and kill the king. King Edward is a good man – the finest king we’ve had in centuries. There will never be a balance between the rich and the poor, but the economy is strong, and we’re well-defended. Taxes are low, and people are given a second chance.”

“Unless they’re guilty of witchcraft,” Ethan pointed out.

Gary nodded. “Well, yeah, mages are dangerous. Once you are found guilty, that’s it. You don’t get a second chance.”

“What’s to stop someone from trying again?”

“That’s why the city is so guarded,” Gary replied, wiping down the counter with a cloth. “Food is checked every day and night for any signs of contamination. Castle servants are separated from the common servants you find walking around the streets. The royal family even have their own personal servants. I mean, it sounds like a lot of work, but this castle hasn’t had a problem since these laws were put into place. Anyone suspected of suspicious behaviour will be taken away to be interrogated.”

“Do you think many mages still exist?”

Gary nodded. “Of course. There’ll always be a few around the area, but most are smart enough to keep their distance from the castle grounds. There population numbers were never great either, so it would take a few generations for there to be a big enough army to threaten the city. Even with all their power, mages are still mortal and easily struck down like any common man.”

Ethan cleared his throat. “Well, this history tale was exciting and all, but we didn’t come here to talk about magic. We aren’t mages, there are no mages in this city, so we don’t have anything to worry about. Let’s just forget about this five-pointed star business. Lyra won’t even need to think about magic when she’s carrying out the royal family’s orders.”

“Right. The royal family,” Gary said, leaning against the counter with a smirk on his face. “You’ll probably end up as Clair’s personal maid – I hear she’s due to be getting married off soon. If she throws one of her tantrums, you can always come here to the tavern and have some ale to forget about it.”

Lyra forced a smile. “Right.”

“Well, I should return to work anyway.”

“And I need to show Lyra around the city,” Ethan said. Turning to Lyra he said, “Forget about this five-pointed star conversation – pretend it never even happened. They’re just stories, that’s all. We are safe here. Besides, if there was a threat, the king and his men would deal with it. Let’s just focus on us now.”

Gary said his goodbyes, shifting his attention to another customer.

“He seems okay,” Lyra said.

Ethan rolled his eyes. He led her towards a table in the far corner and sat down. “He likes to talk. A lot. Come to the tavern if you want your head filled with nonsense. He’s a tavern worker, remember? Gary’s not someone you want to seek advice from nor would you expect any words of honesty from him. So, take my advice – don’t try to investigate this five-pointed star business when you have some time off. It’s probably just someone’s idea of a lame joke.” He stood up from his seat. “I’ll get us something to eat and then we’ll head on back home, so I can show you our daily tasks.”

Before Lyra could respond, Ethan had already walked away.

With a sigh, Lyra glanced in Gary’s direction again. He was busy serving customers now and didn’t look to be available anytime soon. Ethan had said not to trust the words of a bartender, but Gary must’ve heard similar stories before. Drunk or not, every story was a clue. The moral of the story was trust no one. Peace didn’t last forever. Her hometown had been an example of that. Perhaps if she excelled in her tasks, she would be sent to the castle early and from there she’d be able to learn more. Who better to learn about the mages than from the royal family themselves?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are making progress! Drop a comment or a kudos if you enjoyed and want to read more!


	6. Shades of Grey

Azalea Town was known for its pink flowers. They were in full bloom as spring had begun. People used the flowers to decorate their clothing, whilst others used the petals in their medicines. Morty wasn’t sure if they worked, but apparently it helped the body heal faster. He hadn’t tested the theory – he didn’t need to. All he needed was the blood of others to heal.

Because of the flowers, the town was livelier than what was usual according to the locals. People had travelled from far across the region to come here to pick flowers. He wondered how many of them had died making such a dangerous journey all for some flowers. Again, he struggled to understand the normal folk. “Morty? Are you listening?” Eusine said.

They were sitting around a table at Kurt’s place, a local lumberjack who was an expert at making furniture. He was supposedly the best in the business. Will was also present. He was a friend of Kurt’s and was staying at the man’s place. “I’m listening,” Morty replied.

Will placed his elbows on the table, laying down his cigar. “There’s a crypt down below. I’ve been down there briefly, but I’ve no talent when it comes to combat. Eusine tells me you’re one of the best of the Order’s men. You’d be doing this town a favour by resolving the issue down below,” the man said, his arms folded. He picked up his cigar again.

Morty nodded., positioning himself away from the puff of smoke. “What benefit do I get out of helping you?”

“I can put in a good word to Naoko and her sisters. You helped me even though you didn’t have to.”

“Anything else?”

Will nodded, blowing out some smoke once more. “You want to fit in this world? You must blend in. Not draw any suspicion. You could be a local hero if you solve the issue. People have lost their families. If we want to win the favour of the people, we’ll have to earn it. The god we worship? A god of resurrection and rebirth? I’m sure the Phoenix would smile down upon our good work.”

Ho-Oh, the god of the sun. The light. They had to purify the lands of their corruption, and turn them back to magic, not away. The rightful god. Not this Blessed Divine the heathens believed in. “What else do you know about what we’re dealing with?”

“I didn’t venture that far,” Will answered. “But I know people have been taken down into the well.”

“And no one seems to notice?” Morty replied.

“People notice, but what can they do? This is a small town of lumberjacks and tradesmen. They can’t fight. Someone will volunteer to investigate the well, but they never return. The best they can do is throw a stick at you.”

“But you did investigate the well.”

“I don’t venture too deep. Other people seek glory and they allow this obsession for rewards control them. They make foolish moves to prove themselves worthy, but in the end their obsession gets them killed. I’ve seen it many times. But I know for you the rewards aren’t physical – they’re intrinsic. That is why I think you’ll enjoy the challenge of fighting the unknown.”

He hadn’t met Will before, but the man knew him well. He’d have to ask Naoko about Will sometime, but the woman probably wouldn’t say much. Every time Morty asked a question, the answer was always evasive. It’s not any of your concern, Naoko would say. Still, the woman was kind to him. She treated him like a son. “Right. We will head to the well at once then. The sooner, the better.” Morty stood up and walked to the door.

Eusine climbed to his feet. “Wait. We? You can’t possibly mean me.”

Morty glanced over his shoulder. “You’re coming with me. You wanted my help did you not? You won’t get it if you don’t tag along.” He opened the door and stepped outside, then glanced back over to make sure Eusine was following. He was but wore a reluctant expression.

Will followed them outside. “So, you are keen then?” he said.

Morty shook his head. “I’m doing this because I can.”

“The town will be in your debt.”

“I don’t care about the people. None of them mean anything.”

“Very well. Have it your way.” Will gestured to the north. “The well is that way. You can’t miss it. It has a red roof and there’s a cobblestone path leading towards it. Best of luck to you both. I know you won’t disappoint.”

Eusine said his goodbyes and led the way towards the well. It was just a short walk away from the centre of town. There were several blueberry bushes nearby, but none of the fruits had turned ripe yet. “At least there’s a rope. I hope it’s steady,” Eusine said, grabbing hold of the rope giving it a firm tug. As unstable as it looked, the rope held. “Well. You first.”

“I trust there are torches down there.”

“Yes. Near the entrance anyway. People haven’t gotten any further than that.”

Morty sighed and grabbed the hope. He hopped over the sides of the well and slowly slid down. His hands burned from the thick coarse rope, but otherwise he reached the bottom without issues.

Eusine’s descent was less than smooth. The man released his grip halfway down and fell on the mud, landing on his backside.

“Perhaps you should’ve stayed behind…” Morty murmured.

The man clambered to his feet and made a face.

“Grab a torch.”

“All right, all right.” Eusine grabbed one of the torches off a brazier and held it forward.

Morty withdrew his sword and positioned himself at Eusine’s right. Together, they walked away from the rope and towards the crypt entrance. There was no door, but he did notice strange symbols in various red shapes on the stones. He pressed a hand against one of the symbols. Magic had been used to engrave the letters. It still burned hot. “Can you feel it? The magic in the air?”

“Yes. I can sense it.”

Morty gave Eusine a gentle nudge forward.

The man walked through the cavern entrance and held the torch high, gazing up at the ceiling.

There were zubats sleeping, their feet designed to stick to damp smooth surfaces. Completely blind, but they relied on their other senses to navigate and find food. Some of them stirred. Others remained fast asleep. Eusine shone on his torch on the zubats. “I hate zubats,” he muttered.

“They’re not going to hurt you.”

“I know. They’re just… ugly looking creatures. Probably carrying some odd disease.”

“Keep moving.”

Eusine lowered the torch and followed the single path deeper into the crypt. As they ventured deeper, the environment changed. The further they walked away from the well, the wilder it became. The walls were no longer covered in stone, but dirt only. There were holes in the walls made from the rattatas who lived down in the depths. Most likely they lived off dead zubats, worms and other insects.

“There’s a bloody trail ahead,” Eusine pointed out.

Morty followed his finger. There. Bloody humanoid footprints heading in a single direction – north. Eusine seemed hesitant to move, but Morty sauntered forward, venturing deeper into the crypt. “It’s quite a barren place. I would’ve thought there’d be more signs of human activity down here,” Morty said. Not a single piece of furniture. No weaponry. Nothing. Just odd symbols and humanoid footprints.

“Maybe whoever lives down here isn’t quite human anymore. Those symbols were made with magic – you said it yourself. What if they turned into something else? Gone mad from years living down here? What do you think they eat? People? Rodents?” Eusine shuddered. “Ugh. Forget I said that.”

“Whatever helps you survive.”

“How would he even cook his food down here? It’s not like there’s anything here to use to start a fire and our magic isn’t elemental. Probably not even human anymore. Can that even happen?”

Morty shrugged. “Magic was able to turn humans into wolves, so I suppose it’s possible to become something else entirely. We use our magic to absorb the life of others to be reborn again. Anything is possible with magic. We just haven’t explored every opportunity.”

They followed the trail into a wide cavern. There was a stone altar in the centre of the room. Morty supposed it had been made by people long before. Atop the altar laid a naked woman. Her chest had been pulled open and the lungs removed. The ribs remained, and they stood erect. Strangely, there was no blood on her. The woman was clean and there wasn’t even a drop on the altar.

“What in the hells…” Eusine muttered, bringing a hand to his mouth.

Morty approached the body. The eyes had also been removed. Plucked out by some utensil. He opened her mouth. The tongue had also been removed, but the teeth remained. How odd. “Some form of experimentation,” Morty said slowly. He moved his eyes downwards towards the ribcage. “Whoever lives down here… He’s toying with his subjects… or performing terrible surgeries. He… or she must’ve used magic to keep the victim down. There’s no blood either. One of us.” A mage gone rogue. A defect. Someone who had failed the trials and fled.

“…Pain… In so much pain…. Please…. Somebody…”

Morty turned his head towards the voice. It came from the next room. “Stay here,” he said, looking at Eusine.

Eusine nodded. “I had no plans on moving anyway.”

Morty took cautious steps, his sword drawn and ready, as he approached the adjoining cavern.

.

Agatha returned moments later carrying two golden goblets. She handed one to Karen and held out the other for Clair.

Clair grabbed it with both hands and placed it on her lap then peered down to examine the contents. The liquid was red. Almost as red as the colour of blood. How enticing. She even noticed a few suspicious chunky pieces. Screwing up her face in disgust, she glanced up, her dark eyes fixated on Agatha’s face. “What exactly am I about to be drinking?”

The old crone folded her arms and said, “It’s a mixture of ingredients. The blood of an adult rat, two stems of betony, one spoon of honey and a quarter of a baby lamb’s brain all mixed in with water. I’m certain you can tell which part the brains are. I made the parts small enough to swallow whole. You do not want to chew.”

Her stomach muscles tightened. Fortunately, she managed to prevent herself from gagging. Perhaps asking had been a bad idea after all. The liquid itself tasted thick and sweet. _Gross,_ she thought. Much to her satisfaction, Karen looked repulsed.

Even her face was pale, and she looked ready to lurch forwards and expel the contents of her stomach onto the ground. Somehow, she managed to keep it together. How disappointing.

“Good. Now you’ll feel a strange burning sensation overcome you. Do not panic.”

Clair didn’t feel it at first, but then she felt her skin crawl. It was an odd sensation. It was like having an itch you couldn’t scratch that only worsened as time passed on. She fidgeted in her chair as she felt her temperature rise. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead. It was like standing near a hot fireplace and the flames were coming closer. She cast her gaze down at her arms, wondering if she’d see herself change, but nothing. Her arms remained the same. Had the spell even worked? What if they had just been poisoned?

Turning her head to the left, she looked at Karen, hoping she was wrong. She expected to see Karen staring back at her, but instead she saw the face of a young adult male looking back at her. His hair was silver and fell just short of his shoulders, and his eyes as dark as night. He even had the faint beginnings of a beard forming on his chin.

“I always wondered what a male counterpart of you would like. Now I have my answer,” Clair said. To her own ears, she still sounded like herself, but judging by the look of amusement of Karen’s face, she was hearing a much different voice.

“Oh wow, I wish I could have a painting of this done,” Karen said with a grin.

Clair snorted. “It would never be good enough.”

“Right.”

Pause, then, “What do we call ourselves? We’ll need names.”

Karen looked up. When she was in deep thought, she always tended to look to the sky, as if she would find answers there.

The woman claimed it help, but Clair had tried looking up for answers, but found only silence. The clerics claimed Arceus only answered the prayers of the faithful. Which was strange to Clair. Her cousin wasn’t a believer, and many claimed he was blessed by Arceus. The Blessed Hands, the clerics of The Divine led by Koga, were identified by the golden necklace around their necks. Every necklace had a red and white cross attached to it.

“What about… Henry and Neville?”

“Very common names.”

“We are common folk remember?”

Karen sighed. “I suppose so.”

Agatha brought her palms together, drawing their attention. “Remember. Your time is temporary. When the spell begins to wear off, your disguises will start to fade. Keep an eye out for each other and to leave the area as soon as you notice the changes. Your eye colour will be the first to change. That should be your first warning sign to retreat immediately otherwise you’ll find yourselves in a difficult situation. Am I clear?”

“Of course.”

Agatha retrieved the now empty vials. “Godspeed. Off you go now.” She made a shooing motion with her hands.

Karen and Clair exchanged glances and climbed to their feet. Karen thanked Agatha then headed towards the door, leading herself out.

Before Clair could follow her footsteps, Agatha reached out and grabbed her arm, her fingernails digging into Clair’s skin.

“Get your hands off me,” Clair said, trying to pry the old woman’s hands off. Surprisingly, her grip was quite firm.

“You are living a lie,” Agatha said, in a low hushed tone. “How well do you know your grandfather, the man you call king?”

Her grip remained firm. “He’s my family. Of course, I know him well.”

“He keeps secrets from you. He says it is to protect you, but that is a lie. You’re a smart woman; why do you continue to live under his rule? He will send you off to another man’s castle for the sake of financial gain. He cares little for your well-being and your cousin is a blind obedient fool.” Agatha released her grip on her arm, moving both hands to Clair’s shoulders instead. Staring directly into her eyes, she added, “The king is a liar.”

At last, the woman released her grip. Clair recoiled, as if she had been slapped in the face. “I should report you to the authorities. You will be hanged before the mob for your words against my grandfather.”

“I’ll be long gone before you find me again.” The woman took a step back. “I only speak in truth, Clair. Magic was forbidden in this kingdom because your grandfather feared it would lead to his downfall. He still fears it today as he knows what magic is capable of as he experienced it firsthand with the death of his father. Do you even know why the mages left?”

Clair raised an eyebrow. Unlike the others, she did not shy away from the subject of magic. “Because grandfather made them leave. He said their magic was dangerous and all mages could not be trusted. He did it for the best of the kingdom.”

The woman chuckled. “Yet it was magic that gave him the right to rule.”

Clair narrowed her eyes. “Why should I even believe you?”

Agatha’s smile disappeared. “Magic doesn’t lie. If you continue down this current path and believe in their lies, you won’t have a future. You can choose to follow the men blindly or you can create your own destiny.” She then gestured towards the door. “You can leave now. Just remember you have been warned.”

Unsettled, Clair turned her attention away from the woman and retreated.

Karen was waiting for her outside. “Well. You took your time. Did she say something?”

Clair shook her head. “No, nothing important. Let’s just leave already.”

Karen didn’t say another word and just shrugged.

Clair stayed behind her, lost in her own thoughts. Agatha had implied her grandfather was the reason why the mages had left. But wasn’t that obvious? His law had forced them away. Perhaps her grandfather had done something to personally offend the hag and now Agatha held a grudge towards him. Yes. That was probably it. Nothing to be concerned about at all. Forcing the thoughts aside, she followed Karen through the crowded city streets towards the tavern.

.

Lance headed down to the chambers below the throne room where he knew he would find Samuel. The man rarely stepped outside his room, let alone the castle walls itself. It was almost as if Edward didn’t want Samuel being seen outside the castle, but Lance wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if the man had done anything to be ashamed of. Perhaps his grandfather just wanted the man’s services for himself.

He arrived at the door and knocked several times until he received an answer. Moments later, the door opened.

Samuel greeted him with a brief smile and stepped aside to allow Lance through. Once he was inside, he quickly closed the door then turned to face him. “The king has already informed me about your journey to Mahogany Town and I’ve made the necessary preparations for you, so you’ll be well supplied.”

The room the man worked in was small and messy. It was almost as if a wild storm had struck this room alone. There were papers on the floor, books spread across the table with some open and others closed, and there was even a spilt bottle of ink on the floor. Hanging on the eastern wall was a sketch of a man and a wolf. There were various scribbles on the paper, but it was in small print, and he couldn’t decipher words unless he was up close and personal.

“Right,” Lance said, his eyes still fixed on the man and the wolf. “New research?”

Samuel followed his gaze then nodded. “I’ve been working on something new that I believe will help us combat the wolves more effectively should they become a problem. You won’t even have to deal a killing blow – this poison will shut down the immune system of the wolf and it will die slowly.”

“Seems a bit cruel don’t you think?” Lance replied, shifting his gaze away. He turned back to the table and took note of the text on some of the open books. There were images of plants and various descriptions on what they looked like and how they grew. “At least with a blade it’s quick.”

“And leaves too much of a mess behind.” He walked over to the western wall to another table. This one had multiple pots of different sizes all lined up against the wall. Samuel grabbed one of the pots and placed his right hand inside then pulled it out, holding a small blue-purple flower. He held it out towards Lance. “This is what I call wolfsbane. We know it works on normal wolves – there have been tests in other regions. They applied special sauce to a rotting deer corpse. The wolves seemed okay at first, but the scouts discovered their corpses later the following morning.”

“And you think it will work on the werewolves?”

Samuel nodded. “I believe it will. It has quite a sweet smell.”

Lance leaned forward to smell the flower but pulled back immediately when he felt his eyes start to water. Suspecting a sneeze would soon follow, he took a step back and kept his gaze on the petals.

Samuel ‘s eyebrows arched up. “I did not realize you were allergic.”

“I’ve never been allergic to any herb before.”

The old man shrugged. “Sometimes you can go your entire life without finding a weakness. Speaking of ailments and illnesses, how have you been feeling recently? Your grandfather wants to know whether the dosage should be increased or if you are stable.”

Every month for at least four days he’d come down with a terrible headache that would keep him in bed if not for Samuel’s medicine. He would be overcome with muscle aches and pains all over his body. The medicine he drank didn’t make the pain go away – it would only lessen it so it was manageable, but overtime his body became accustomed to it, and the dosage would need to be readjusted every couple of months. His grandfather called it moon sickness, but when Lance had asked the other soldiers if they suffered it too, none of them had heard of it. It seemed to be something unique to him. A side effect of being Arceus’s chosen?

“Do you know why this happens?”

Samuel turned back to his table and pulled out a drawer. He searched through and grabbed a pouch made of animal hide and handed it to Lance. “This will last you until you return. And to answer your question, no, I don’t know why. We all have a weakness, Lance. We’re all susceptible to some illness and yours just happens to be this moon sickness.”

Lance took the pouch. “Moon sickness. No one else seems to have it.”

Samuel ignored him. “This is a little stronger than usual because you’re going away. I won’t be able to treat you, so I took extra precautions and gave you more.”

“Thanks.”

“You don’t need to thank me. Keeping you in good health is my job.”

“I’ll see you when I return.”

“And I should have the wolfsbane completed for you to test again. Take care.”

Lance nodded. Nothing else was needed to be said. Without saying another word, he turned around and saw himself out.

.

Leaning against a wall, was a man in chains, his chest bare. “It’s inside me… Please… Get it out!” he pleaded, turning his dark eyes in Morty’s direction, his eyes full of pain. Tears rolled down his dirty cheeks. “Get it out! Get it out!” He thrashed against his chains, trying to break free, but his movements were in vain.

Morty kneeled before him, then reached a hand down for his dagger. A hunting knife used for carving small animals like rabbits. He looked into the man’s eyes then placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him in place. There were stitches on the man’s stomach already. Someone had opened him up and placed something inside. “This is going to hurt,” Morty remarked, as he made a deep incision into the flesh. Blood seeped out of the wound.

“Oh… That is…” Eusine gagged.

“There was a reason why you never passed the trials,” Morty replied, his gaze focused on the whimpering man before him. “Your mind was weak, Eusine. You couldn’t be strong when you needed to be.” Morty made the cut wider then parted back the folds. The man screamed. At first, nothing happened, then a furry purple snout poked through the opening. A rattata. Surprised, he pulled back. The rattata pushed itself through the stomach and climbed out. It dropped on the floor and scurried away.

“What is going on here?” Eusine said.

Morty thrust his blade into the man’s heart silencing his cries. He didn’t bother sacrificing this man. The man had already been defiled. Besides, he’d be stuck down in the well when the resurrection happened. “A human experiment.” He climbed to his feet just as an arrow flew by his head. An intentional miss? Or just poor aim? He turned to the shadows.

“…Intruders… intruders. In my own home. I can smell your fear. Hear your heart beating. Feel the blood pumping.” A thin high-pitched voice. A woman. She emerged from the shadows, her back slouched. Her hair was white, thin and uncombed, and her skin all wrinkled and yellow. She carried a twisted staff in her left hand to support her weight. Each step was slow. “You invade my home. You attack my patients. They are being saved.”

“Saved?” Morty repeated, cautious.

She closed the distance. “Yes. Saved. These people are filthy. They’re sinners. I am purifying them of their sins and turning them to our God as required. They will rise from the ashes like a phoenix.” Her brows furrowed. “But you come here and defile my home.”

As she drew closer, Morty was able to take notice of the finer details. There were strange bumps and lesions on her arms and face. Her eyes were red, and her lips a pale blue colour. Diseased. Probably from living off a poor diet. He maintained a healthy distance. “You were one of us once.”

“And when I die, I will rise again from the ashes.”

Morty’s tightened his jaw. “These people aren’t going anywhere. Even if they were brought back from the dead, they’re not getting out of here. You’re not serving anyone. This is not what we do. We don’t experiment on the dead.” He kept his distance, uncertain. She might’ve looked weak and frail, but she was still a mage.

She slammed her staff on the ground. “I serve God.”

“You are not part of the Brotherhood. We do not defile the dead.”

That seemed to anger her. Her mouth twisted into a sneer. “I serve God,” she repeated.

“And He doesn’t need you. That’s why you’re down here rotting away.”

“I am purifying these people.”

Morty spat at the ground. “No, you’re not. You’re maiming these bodies. When these people rise again after the resurrection, do you think they’ll be useful in a n battle with one arm?” The woman was clearly mad. Whatever disease she had gained had rattled her brain, or whatever remained of it. “Do you think the dead can be of any use down here? They’re not even marked appropriately. They won’t be coming back when the spell is cast,” Morty explained.

“I’m helping these people. I’m saving them.”

“By taking out their lungs and placing rodents inside their stomachs?”

“They were suffering. I am freeing them of their pain.”

“By prolonging their deaths,” Morty replied, still maintaining a distance. He didn’t want any part of her to touch him. What if the disease was contagious? Blood healed wounds, but it didn’t cure a necromancer of a disease. “You’re disgracing our God with these pitiful offerings. That won’t be tolerated.”

She slammed the staff on the ground again. “Your presence won’t be tolerated!” she shrieked. There was a maddened gleam in her dark eyes.

Morty approached her now, his left hand curled into a fist. She didn’t back away. He closed the distance between them. The woman attacked first, swinging her staff. Morty met her weapon with his own and blocked the attacked. She had spirit, but her body was weak.

“I am his devout follower! I will offer you as a grand sacrifice!” She swung her staff again.

This time, he stepped back and thrust his left hand forward, curling his fingers into a fist. Blood lifted from the ground and merged into a rope. He swung it like a whip. Although it was made of liquid, it maintained its form, held together by the dark magic. The blood rope wrapped around her staff and pulled it free from her hands. Morty waved his hand. The rope flung the staff away. It flew into a wall and splintered into pieces. “I really was expecting more of a fight, but you’re not even whole.”

She bared her teeth. They were yellow. Some of her front teeth were badly chipped. The woman charged and flung herself at him tackling him to the ground. She tried to bite him, gnashing at his skin, like a wild animal, her hot breath washing over his face.

Up this close, he was able to see parts of her skin starting to peel away from her face. With his free hand, he punched her in the side of the face. It was enough to allow him to roll away until she grabbed his leg. He turned around and kicked in the face, his foot colliding with her nose. Blood spilled out.

“This is not how we serve.”

She fell back, then climbed to her feet. Uttering harsh grunts, she charged again, her arms flailing wildly, saliva flying in all directions. It was as if she was becoming half-beast herself.

He caught both arms then kneed her in the stomach. She lurched forward. Again, he kicked her, this time in the face. One of her teeth fell out.

“I will not let you succeed!” she hissed.

Is this what happened to everyone who was sent away? Did they become mad too? Perhaps an immediate death would be a better option. Better to be dead and die with your mind intact than die not even knowing what you are. “Was it Naoko who oversaw your trials?”

Her face darkened. She seemed to recognize the name. “The dark mistress.” She spat at the ground. “I want to rip out her heart and take a bite out of it! Wrap my hands around her neck and choke the life from her.” It wouldn’t be the first time Naoko had crushed someone’s hope of becoming part of the Order of Ash. “I was her favourite. Fantina, she said. You are chosen. But I was abandoned. She left me, and she will leave you too. Abandon you. Turn against you. You are disposable.”

“No, she won’t.”

She snorted. “You believe her lies. I did. Look at where I ended up. Fall from grace. I was beautiful once. Powerful. Now I’m here. I travelled the ocean to serve but I only arrived to fall.”

“Your faith was not strong enough.”

“Oh, my faith is strong. It is you whose faith is weak. You do not believe in the one true God. You believe in only a monster. Naoko will send you away to dispose of you. To replace you.”

Morty shook his head, his sword’s tip still pointed at her. “I will not be replaced.”

She threw her head back and cackled. “You do not serve The Blessed Divine.”

Morty lifted a brow. Arceus? “You turned to Arceus? You really are weak. Hasn’t done you much good, has it. You turn away from one god and turn to another, yet you find yourself down here. Look at you. A wreck. You’re dying of disease. Arceus isn’t going to save you.” He glanced over at the man then turned back to Fantina. “All these sacrifices… Don’t mean anything. Arceus doesn’t love you.”

“He’s the true God. The Divine. The Blessed Creator. After death, we ascend into a paradise. I am saving these people. They are going to a better place,” Fantina reasoned, her tone sincere.

The mad woman genuinely believed in her words. “You’re a fool,” he remarked.

“You stumble in the dark. The light is ahead. But you can’t reach it. Not yet. But you will. You’ll see. I saw.”

“I’m not you.” Tired of her words, he thrust the blade squarely between her ribs, pushing the steel through to the other side.

She gasped, and raised her hands, placing them on the sword. She tried to yank it free, but already weakness was affecting her. It wasn’t much of a challenge. Even a farmer would put up a better fight. “…You… will… see…” she rasped.

“I had hoped for a challenge, but I shouldn’t be surprised from someone who failed an easy set of trials. You should be glad. You’ll be reunited with your God that you profess to love so much.” He withdrew his sword. She fell forward and landed face first, gasping and wheezing. Dropping down to his knees, he cupped her chin and looked at her.

“…Arceus… damn you,” she rasped. “You will see the truth.”

“I already know the truth., but you choose to be blind. Arceus doesn’t care about you.” He pulled his hand away and climbed to his feet. Fantina dropped to the ground, blood spilling out of the open wound. “And this is the fate that awaits those who displease the Phoenix. Traitors be damned.” He turned his back and walked away from the woman, not stopping once to glance back. The fool had betrayed them. Turned away from the light. Turned to the Divine. Fantina deserved this fate. She had become blind.

“It’s done them,” Eusine said, his face pale.

Morty nodded, putting his sword back. “It’s done. I’ll continue to Blackthorn.”

Traitors be damned.

.

It was like entering another world. The castle life was bland and strict, but here in the tavern, it seemed people had forgotten they were just servants of her grandfather. There were no rules here – you could drink, and no one could tell you when to stop; you could eat as much as you wanted if you could afford it. You could even talk about any topic freely without having to worry what someone else might think. Karen labelled it tavern talk; gossip and vulgar language, all of which was considered unladylike by her grandfather.

Clair scanned her surroundings, keeping her eyes peeled for anyone that might look interesting. She saw a group of soldiers seated around one of the tables to the south-western corner. One of them she recognized as Bruno. She had traded words with him on multiple occasions and not even one left her feeling positive towards him. He seemed to think she fancied him when it was the exact opposite; she couldn’t even stand the sight of him, but Lance seemed to think highly of the man for whatever reason.

“Try not to talk to any of the commonfolk. You know the peasants and the like. They might try to touch you and who knows where their hands have been. I wouldn’t want you to come down with anything nasty because your grandfather will know we’ve been here. Don’t even make eye contact with them. Think of them as rodents,” Karen explained as she looked around the room before resting her attention on the man behind the counter. “Now he’s someone worth talking to. That’s Gary Oak, Samuel’s grandson.”

She had heard the name before. Samuel often talked about his grandson and how he wished the boy would come and visit him in the castle, but Gary never came. Samuel had described him as a cunning boy but lacked ambition. She looked at him now. He was busy wiping down the surface of the counter.

“I didn’t expect him to be so…”

“Good-looking? Yeah.”

Clair had never found any of the local men attractive. Some were too thin, some were too wide, some were too short, and some were too tall, but Gary checked all the right boxes. Tall, but not too tall. He was neither fat nor thin and he seemed to pay attention to his appearance unlike some of the other peasants in the kingdom. From all the commoners she had crossed paths with, each one of them seemed to have some physical issue whether it be suspicious bumps on their faces, weight issues, skin conditions and other similar problems, but that wasn’t the case with Gary. But there had to be something wrong. How could a grandson of Samuel Oak work in a place like this?

“I heard he chose to work here. He could’ve followed in his grandfather’s footsteps, but for some reason, found working in a tavern more appealing,” Karen explained.

“I don’t think we should be staring at him. I mean, we’re not us… Not to anyone else. Don’t you think he’d find a bit strange if he noticed two males looking at him with fascination? He might think we are creeps.” He hadn’t seemed to notice them yet. He was too busy with his duties to even look their way once. That was probably for the best. It was a strange sensation that filled her. It wasn’t something that she had felt before. Was it what Karen referred to as attraction? No. It couldn’t be.

Karen nodded. “Fair point. We should probably take a seat somewhere. Just standing here and looking clueless will only draw attention.” She headed towards one of the spare tables to the south west and sat down. Clair sat opposite to her. “So. What do you think? First time at the tavern.”

“It’s okay. I wish I had longer to enjoy it all, but we can’t everything.” She understood why her grandfather didn’t want her present. It was the place of the peasants, the common folk. She wondered how many of them had resorted to vulgar acts of prostitution to obtain coin. Probably more than what seemed. “Come to think of it, maybe we shouldn’t eat anything here. It could make us sick.”

Karen laughed. “The food here is fine. I’ve been here several times with the soldiers.”

Raising an eyebrow, Clair said, “What? You spent time with them? How did you manage to do that? Women aren’t allowed in the barracks. Did you sneak in at night without the guards noticing?”

“No, silly, the arena. You know the fighting pits where the men train against each other?”

Clair frowned. “No?”

Karen sighed. “You really don’t know much about the kingdom you live in, do you? You’re so sheltered. Yeah. The arena. That’s where you meet the soldiers after their training sessions and of course, after some gruelling hours of training, all a man wants is a woman to keep his bedroll warm.”

“Aren’t the soldiers forbidden from doing that?”

“Oh please, not all the soldiers are like Lance, Clair. Besides, Lance is part of the Holy Order of Knights, the King’s elite men. They must be chaste to even join and believe me, you can tell. Anyone who wants to join the Holy Order has to be circumcised.”

“Even if they’re not pure?”

Karen nodded. “The knights are chaste, but the soldiers are not. A shame about the knights, really. Especially Lance. Such potential wasted. You think it’s ever crossed his mind?”

Clair stiffened. It always made her uneasy listening to other women talk about her cousin. Some women lamented his celibate life whilst others mocked him behind his back. Of course, mocking her cousin wasn’t classified as a crime so there was nothing she could do but allow them to make their snide remarks. “He knows what he’s sacrificed Karen, and that doesn’t disappoint him. As he says, he’s willing to make whatever sacrifice is necessary if it will benefit the kingdom.”

“Right… But how does being a celibate knight benefit anyone?”

She struggled to think of a response. It had something to do with her grandfather wanting the Holy Order of Knights to be a sign of prestige and it obtain that certain sacrifices had to be made to be inducted. Only upon retirement could a knight think about family. “…It’s not about benefiting anyone, Karen. It’s about putting his duty to the kingdom first.”

“He could make so many women proud… Now we must wait until he’s an old man. Where’s the fun in that?”

Clair glared. “Don’t talk about my cousin like that.”

Karen raised her hands. “Fine, fine. Anyway. We should get a drink. No point in coming to the tavern if you don’t get a drink.” She headed over to the counter and Clair followed.

A chance to talk to Gary Oak. Not as her usual self but at least she’d get to hear him speak. Clair had never tasted alcohol before – it wasn’t allowed in the castle as her grandfather thought it was unladylike for women to indulge in such things. She remained silent as Karen took the lead and placed an order.

“Two of your strongest wines please,” Karen said.

“Strongest?” Clair repeated.

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure you can handle it?” Gary said.

Karen nodded. “Of course. We can handle whatever the men can.”

He raised an eyebrow. “…Considering you are both men, I’d hope so.”

“Real men, Gary. The soldiers. Not the peasantry.”

Knowing Karen expected her to pay Clair placed a pouch of six gold coins on the counter. “That should cover it all.”

Gary took the pouch, opened it and peered inside. The expression on his face said it all – a mixture of bemusement and surprise – were enough to tell her she had given him far too much. “It’s just some alcohol, you know. I guess you lads don’t come here very often… Or you’ve never drunk before.” He looked up again and grinned. “Two of our strongest wines it is then,” he added then headed over to the barrels to fill up the goblets.

Karen caught Clair’s eye. “It’s really not that strong. You’ll be fine.”

That didn’t sound convincing. Clair couldn’t disagree; they had already paid good coin for the drinks and she certainly wasn’t going to appear weak in front of her best friend and Samuel’s grandson. She was a princess! Not some coward! Gary returned moments later with the drinks. Clair grabbed hers and looked down at the amber coloured liquid. “What’s it made of?”

“Grain, water and fermented with yeast. Nothing overly complex. Pretty simplistic really. I won’t tell you the exact measurements because I don’t want to go out of business, but I think you’ll like it. Everyone does.”

Clair took a sip. It was warm and sweet in flavour. A little too sweet for her liking. She put it down again and looked up. “People like this?”

“It helps them relax… You look a little stressed. I know it’s not my business to ask, but I take it you have a lot on your mind?” Karen cleared her throat, but Gary ignored her. Even disguised as men, Clair was receiving more attention than her.

“I guess you could that.” Her grandfather still intended for the arranged marriage to go ahead. Prince Benga would be arriving in a few short days to meet with her in person before the official ceremony. “Why did you choose to work at a tavern?”

Gary shrugged. “I get asked that a lot. My grandfather works in the castle, but that’s not the life for me. Can you imagine anything worse than being stuck within those walls all day long? I’ve heard castle life is a bit bland, and that wouldn’t suit someone like me. I like being with people; having a few laughs with the commonfolk. We’re not free people but within the walls of this tavern? It certainly feels like it.”

“Yeah, I understand.” _More than you think_ , she noted. Castle life was dull. There was only so much fun you could gain out of bullying the slaves before it became old; not surprisingly, this was another activity her grandfather wasn’t fond of. Her thoughts were interrupted by a nudge in the ribs from Karen. Had time already flown by that quickly? It had only seemed like they had just arrived.

“Well, as much as I enjoyed the conversation with you, I really should be focusing on work.”

“Oh of course.”

Clair took another sip of her drink.

“But before you go… What do you think?” He gestured at the drink in her hands.

It wasn’t something she was keen on drinking again. It was too sweet and the liquid itself felt creamy. How could anyone find enjoyment from this? But rather than express her distaste, she just smiled. “It’s good.” She glanced over at Karen who had already consumed hers fully. Clair forced herself to drink the remainder of her ale fighting off the urge to expel the contents from her stomach. She was not going to show weakness.

“Perhaps you’ll be back in the future for more.”

Clair forced a smile. “Of course. How could I not want to return?”

He grinned then shifted his attention away from her to some other customers. Clair watched him for a few moments. Would he speak to her if she was her usual self or would she have to return in a disguise to have a casual conversation? He didn’t like the rules of the castle and he probably didn’t have a high opinion of the royal family either though he would not say that aloud or risk being deemed a traitor. Nevertheless, she planned to return in the future and learn more about him. Perhaps Samuel would share his thoughts if she asked.

Her plans would have to wait – time was running out and Karen was growing impatient and probably jealous. She stood up from her seat and headed towards the door, not stopping once to check if Karen was following. The tavern was exciting; she knew she’d have to come back on her own at some point if only to get away from the castle life for a while, but would Agatha still be here? Maybe she could convince Gary to leave the tavern and come to her instead on order of the king. She smiled at the thought. Lance would call it an abuse of power, but she didn’t care what he thought. She deserved some fun too. Without bothering to wait for Karen, Clair headed to the private baths where she could lose her disguise without being spotted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like the story so far, feel free to drop a comment


	7. Dark Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years folks!
> 
> If you like this story, please drop a comment :D

Agatha’s words refused to leave Clair’s mind. The woman believed her grandfather was hiding something important – a dark family secret. Everyone had their secrets, but what was so bad that he felt it was necessary to keep quiet about? And how did Agatha even know? Was she involved somehow? Why hadn’t anyone tried to stop Agatha and report her for using magic? How was an old woman able to escape? So many questions.

“Are you still thinking about Agatha?” Karen said.

A day had passed since their encounter. Troubled, she hadn’t been able to sleep the previous night. All she could think about was her grandfather and it only raised several questions. Why had he started the war against the mages? Why would the mages suddenly betray the kingdom? These questions were ones her grandfather refused to answer.

“It’s what she said to me. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but it is. She said my family could not be trusted.”

Karen shrugged. “She’s an old woman. Old people are mad, especially the women.”

“But what if she’s telling the truth?”

“How would she even know what the truth is?”

“Because she knows magic? Don’t magical people know these sorts of things?”

Karen sighed. “You’re thinking of the oracles. They know everything because they see everything, but there hasn’t been an oracle sighting in decades. Look. You’ve got to relax, okay? It’s just the ramblings of an old woman.”

The woman wasn’t even supposed to be in this city considering her grandfather’s stance on magic. Although mixing potions for healing purposes was allowed, potions that changed your appearance wouldn’t be accepted. That involved actual magic. Not just a bunch of ingredients together. She wasn’t even sure why her grandfather feared it so much. Magic was a weapon and if wielded correctly could be used to devastating effect.

“Yeah. You’re right. I shouldn’t take any notice.”

Karen nodded. “You need to take your mind off Agatha, and I know just the thing to keep you distracted. The markets are on, right? And that means the foreign merchants are here with their unique goods. I’m sure you’ll find something that you will catch your eye.” She gestured towards the market distract.

Clair didn’t visit the markets often. Usually it was just lowly peasants trying to sell their goods and she didn’t see the point in spending her coin on their poor-quality wares, but on rare occasions some merchants would have something that was interesting. She had a penchant for jewellery especially gold amulets, and she had the money to buy the best of the best.

“Fine. We will go to the markets. Perhaps I will find something that will catch my interest.” The only reason Karen was taking her to the markets was because she wanted something for herself. Karen had money; but she certainly wasn’t wealthy. Sometimes, Clair would buy her something if she was in a good mood.

Karen gave an impatient sigh. “It will take your mind off such petty thoughts anyway. I mean, come on, seriously Clair? She’s just saying that to scare you. She’s an old hag. That’s what they do. We all have secrets; not all of them must be shared. If something bad did happen, it’s in the past, right? Besides, you’ve been living a decent life for over two decades now and no one else has ever said anything so why even worry? So, stop worrying okay?”

Clair nodded and kept her mouth shut. It wasn’t as if there was anything else to say. She followed Karen down a twisting sandy path until they reached the markets. The market district was lively as always. The commoners would always gather here looking for cheap trinkets, walking up and down the street, searching for a store that suited their fancy. There were jewellery stalls. Food stalls. Clothing stalls. Stalls for herbal medicines and even small animals for sale such as rabbits and lizards.

“Oh, I think you’ll like this one,” Karen said, tilting her head towards a stall at the far end. Each stall consisted of a single table and two pouches made of raticate hide used for carrying goods. All the goods available for purchase were laid out on the table arranged in rows. Clair followed Karen to a stall owned by a woman with orange hair with brown highlights. Her eyes were also a strange shade of orange too. Already she could tell there was something odd about this woman.

“This is the jewellery store owned by Gardenia. She sells rare objects. She’s a treasure hunter.”

Gardenia didn’t even acknowledge Clair with a smile. It was hard to tell what she was thinking. Her face was neutral, and her body language didn’t even give off a defensive vibe. Her arms were at her sides and her lips pressed together in a thin line though she didn’t see any anger in her eyes. “I travel the lands searching abandoned towns and cities and I go where not many people will dare visit,” the woman said. “I have searched caves. I have dug up graves. I have entered sacred shrines.”

 _Weird and a bit creepy,_ Clair thought. She glanced down at the table and scanned the goods available. To the far left were a couple of earrings, but she already had a golden pair that she liked. They had belonged to her mother who had died to complications in childbirth. Her eyes shifted right. There were bracelets, but again she was already satisfied with the ones she had. She looked some more then stopped, her eyes focusing on the amulets. There was one made of gold with a blood-coloured ruby on the far right. The other amulets were either copper or silver. She ignored those ones.

“I like the looks of this one,” Clair said, pointing at the amulet with the blood-coloured ruby.

Gardenia glanced down and smiled. “You have good eyes. I found that one in a tomb for a former priest. He had no name, but the priests of the early days believed rubies would protect them from evil spirits.”

Clair didn’t fear spirits. Besides, ghosts didn’t exist. That was just a story the children shared. What do you think, Karen?”

“I think the red clashes with the gold personally…” Karen faced Clair. “…And it clashes with your hair colour.”

Rolling her eyes, Clair turned away and picked up the amulet. Much to her surprise, the ruby itself was warm to her tough as it if were a living breathing creature. That wasn’t normal. Clair glanced up.

As if Gardenia had sensed her surprise, the woman said, “The ruby is filled with magic.”

“Magic?” Clair said, holding the amulet before her, catching the sun’s rays on the ruby. “How so?”

“The priests would place powerful spells on their amulets to ward off the evil spirits. They believed evil forces could possess the bodies of humans and so they made these amulets for protection,” Gardenia explained. She paused then added, “That is why the ruby feels warm to your fingertips. Even after all these centuries the powerful magic still lives in them and it will protect you from harm.”

Karen snorted. “Oh, that’s just ridiculous.”

Clair placed the amulet around her neck. The warmth of the ruby seemed to spread throughout her entire body. Gardenia hadn’t been lying when she said the magic was still powerful even after all these long years. She would have to hide the ruby from public eyes however – her grandfather would be most displeased if he discovered she was wearing an item of magic around her neck.

“You don’t believe her?”

“Why should we?”

“She could be telling truth.”

“Or it could just be one of those stories told around a campfire. Come on, Clair. You’re not a believer in the ghostly spirits either… Or has that amulet around your neck already corrupted your mind?” she teased.

With a roll of her eyes, Clair ignored her and looked at Gardenia again. “I’m going to buy it. I don’t believe in spirits myself, but I do fancy good jewellery. Here. Take ten gold coins. I have no need for them,” she added, handing over a small pouch of gold coins. Coin wasn’t an issue for her. She didn’t work, and she still had coin than everyone else in the kingdom.

Gardenia’s eyebrows lifted. “Impressive.”

Karen gave a dismissive snort, unimpressed. “It’s not even that pretty, really,” she murmured.

Turning her back, Clair prepared to walk off when Gardenia spoke again.

“The spirits are real,” she said softly. “The dead live once more.”

Clair turned back around. “What stays dead… stays dead.”

“I have travelled the world. I have seen men die and rise again. Magic is a powerful force.”

Karen grabbed Clair’s arm and tugged her aside. “Just ignore her. All those travels seemed to have messed with her head. It is getting late and I’m supposed to be cooking dinner tonight. Next time I’ll take you to the slave pits for the fighting. You’ll love it.”

The illegal fighting zone where slave owners placed bets on their slaves. Slaves would fight in a tiny arena of mud and dirt until one was knocked unconscious or surrendered. Her grandfather didn’t know about them; none of the castle slaves were involved so he wasn’t concerned with what others did with theirs.

“All right. Grandfather will be expecting my presence anyway for dinner. Farewell.”

Karen said her farewells then left. Most likely her grandfather would want to discuss the marriage to Benga. She barely knew anything about the man except that his family was very wealthy. That was probably why her grandfather wanted her to marry him – for money, but it wasn’t as if their family was struggling financially…. Or were they? Grandfather never discussed financial matters with her, and she knew there was no point in discussing the topic with him. Not even Lance knew the details or he at least he claimed not to know.

“Fine. I’ll see you later then.”

* * *

Morty had departed for Blackthorn, and with the problem resolved in Azalea, Eusine had decided it was time to return to Ecruteak. For the past few months he had kept his distance from the city of birth, wanting to avoid Naoko’s piercing gaze. It was obvious the woman didn’t hold him in high regard – she only sent him to small towns to carry out menial tasks.

But this was his chance to improve his reputation with her. Morty was out of the city, and that meant he couldn’t prove that he had been the one to solve the issue at Azalea Town. After all, he wasn’t even supposed to be there. He could claim glory for resolving the issue and claim the rewards from the leaders. Morty was the one whom the sisters held in high regard, and he was the one often overlooked. But this would change things. He could prove he was just as capable, and hopefully the Phoenix would favour him.

“Isn’t he supposed to be your friend?” Will said, leaning back in his chair, one leg folded over the other. His left hand was holding his goblet, whilst his right rested on his leg.

Eusine nodded. “Friendship doesn’t exist in the Order of Ash, Will.”

“Then why don’t you just stab him and be rid of the competition?” He took a sip of his drink.

“What? Kill him myself?” Eusine replied. He looked down at his own drink, reached out for it, then pulled his arm away. “He’s the finest warrior we have. Passed the combat trials with ease. Passed the trials of faith and magic with no problems either. He earned the Phoenix’s blessing and that is why he is heading to Blackthorn.”

“And you wish it was you.”

Again, Eusine nodded. “Can you blame me? All my life I’ve been in his shadow, watching him progress and become the Chosen One within the circle. He looks down upon me, Will. He knows I’m not his equal.”

Will put his drink down and uncrossed his legs. “You are a foolish man, Eusine. You are not thinking. If you can’t kill him yourself, then find someone who can do the job for you. There is no shame in hiring someone else to do the dirty work for you.”

Eusine leaned forward, placing both arms on the table. “What? Hire assassins? I can’t do that. What if they decide to kill me instead? Those men are without honour.”

“There is honour among assassins if you know the right ones to ask. Have you heard the name Janine?”

“Never.”

“She’s the daughter of Koga, the high priest of Blackthorn. She abandoned the life of service to the church and left the city. Now she’s an honourable thief who can be found in Goldenrod City if you are willing to make the journey.”

Looking thoughtful, Eusine ran a finger across his lips. “You’ve met with her before?”

Folding his arms over his chest, Will nodded. “In my trade, it pays to know the best thief.”

“Then I will make the journey to Goldernod and speak with her. What must I know about her?”

“Anything of value to you. She has an eye for jewellery. Gold preferably.”

The only gold he had in his possession was his mother’s ring. “I can’t give up my ring. That belonged to my mother. It was a gift to her said to have been made by Suicune himself.” The god of winter. A beast who fought in the great war of the gods many centuries ago, well before the time of humans.

“Do you want Morty dealt with or would you prefer to remain in his shadow? If he’s as talented as you say, then I can’t imagine he’ll be meeting an early grave anytime soon without some interference from you.” Will leaned back, a smirk gracing his lips. “It’s your choice ultimately. How badly do you want to be appreciated?”

Tightening his jaw, Eusine curled his fingers into fists then glanced down at the ring on his finger. He touched it with his left hand, carefully running his fingers across the cool surface, as if it would break with too much force. “I have to give you up for the greater good. I want to make you proud of me,” he whispered.

“I will accompany you to Goldenrod. The work here has been done so there’s no reason for me to stay here no more. Besides, I was beginning to tire of this small town anyway. I’ve always preferred the bigger cities. A merchant can take us there for a small fee. Oh. I would advise collecting Fantina’s remains. The head at least as proof to Naoko.”

Eusine nodded. “Of course.”

“Before I go, I must ask – are you certain you wish to go through with this? You are asking to assassinate someone who is also part of your Order, a brother so to speak. If you succeed, you may still not be rewarded. If you fail, then your life might in danger if he decides to seek you out.”

“Did you see how he treated me earlier? He does not value my life at all. So why should I value his life? No. I will give up the ring. Even if I fail… Even if I am not blessed by the Phoenix… I will still have the satisfaction of knowing he is dead.” Whatever it took to get ahead of your rivals even if it meant turning against one of your brothers.

Will nodded. “Very well then. I’ll make the necessary arrangements. We will leave at dawn.” The man stood up and walked away.

Eusine watched him retreat, taking another sip of his mead. Ho-Oh was the god of rebirth. By killing Morty, he would be reborn a new man. “Here’s to a new life,” he murmured.

* * *

“There are a number of jobs available to slaves,” Ethan said, guiding Lyra towards the farmlands outside the city walls.

The farms stretched across the plains all the way to the lower slopes of the mountains. She could see both men and women working on the crops and tending to the animals in the hot sun. Both men and women wore large straw hats and clothing that covered their arms and legs entirely to protect them from the heat.

“But as a woman and a maid of the castle, you won’t have to be worry about these jobs,” Ethan added.

“And what sort of jobs are they?”

“Well, we have every area covered. For the middle-class jobs, we have cooks, farmers and butchers to provide food for the people. We have falconers to train falcons to deal with pests that invade the granary and the mills. We have the messengers to deliver important notices to surrounding kingdoms and towns. Then we have the least fortunate jobs usually reserved for the lowly slaves and this involves being a gong farmer and cleaning the kingdom. It also includes being a bath man and that is basically washing people as they visit the city baths.”

Lyra raised an eyebrow. “City baths? You mean you don’t have a private area?”

Ethan shook his head. “Well, the royal family have their own quarters and the solders have theirs as well, but everyone else has to share. We roll in big barrels of water and the bath man use some cloth to rub down anyone who has an appointment. As you can imagine, it’s not easy to do, especially since men and women share the same bath area.”

Lyra tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind. Would that mean she had to bathe in the same area too? She never had to undress before anyone else but her mother. Standing naked in front of strangers didn’t sound comforting. “…Shared bathing areas?” she said, finally finding her voice to speak.

“You become used to it after a while.”

“…Right. Um. I won’t have to do that, will I?”

“You’ll be a personal servant to the king’s family, meaning Lance and Clair. I mean. I was told before you arrived that they were looking for someone to serve Clair because she can be a bit… wild. Clair is supposed to be getting married soon too so the king wants someone to help her. You basically came at the right time. Any later and you’d probably end up someplace else.”

A personal servant to the royal family? And here she thought she was just going to be a castle maid doing castle duties like cleaning and cooking. She bit her lower lip. “So… What are they like? You know the royal family?”

“Clair, as I said, can be a wild spirit. I haven’t dealt with her much at all, but I know she’s demanding and rude. Not exactly the ideal woman to be honest, but who am I to speak ill of the future queen? As for Lance, he’s the opposite of Clair. If Clair is mad at you, she will yell and scream, but if Lance is, he’ll express his disappointment in a quiet controlled tone…. Not that I’ve ever seen him angry. He’s just too perfect, you know?”

Like a prince in the fairy tales her mother told her as a child. The princes in her mother’s stories were noble, physically and mentally strong, kind-hearted and handsome. They were the ideal representation of men who knew all the right words to say to a woman to make her fall in love with him. Lyra didn’t believe in the tales; perfection was just an illusion, something the delusional tried to obtain. Everyone was flawed even if they didn’t openly acknowledge it. “Right. So I’m going to be their slave?”

“Not a slave, Lyra. A personal maid. There’s a difference.”

“And what exactly would that be?”

“Slaves don’t have rights. You do. You can spend your coin freely for example.”

“…But I’d still be serving someone. A master.” She failed to see the difference.

“…Well yeah, but don’t we all serve someone?” He raised a fair point. There was no such thing as freedom. Everyone served a higher power. Even the king did. He served God, Arceus. “Besides, being a personal maid to Clair, the princess, is a big deal, Lyra. Do you how many other people would want to be in that position? It’s better than working out in the hot sun or being in the bakery.”

“When you put it like that, I can’t argue with your logic.”

Ethan smiled. “See? It’ll be perfectly fine. Yeah, Clair can be a little difficult to deal with, but you will be protected. Edward has never mistreated us, and Lance has always shown kindness towards us as well. You may even be asked to do tasks for Lance.”

“And what sort of tasks will be required of me?”

“Anything Clair asks of you really. Washing her clothes. Combing her hair. Organizing her clothes. Helping her with her jewellery. Taking her to the bathhouse. That sort of stuff. The daily essentials. Lance may ask the same of you and he’s entitled to even though your Clair’s personal maid.”

Lyra raised an eyebrow. So, she was technically serving two people.

At Lyra’s confused look, Ethan added, “I’m not saying that he will… He doesn’t have his own personal servant, but he might ask you for some assistance like preparing his horse and grabbing his sword and the like.”

“Oh,” was all Lyra could say. For a moment she thought Ethan might be suggesting that she might have to aid Lance at the bathhouse too. How embarrassing. She could feel her cheeks beginning to warm up at the thought of a public bathhouse. “…Have you ever had to do that before? You know. Get close and personal with the royals?”

Ethan shook his head. “…I once gave Clair’s mare a bath. She wasn’t happy. Said I missed a spot and I was punished for it. I had to clean the stables for a week.” He scrunched up his face at the memory.

“…And I’m supposed to be her personal maid? I’m not even going to last an hour.”

“…She can be rough around the edges, but just try to do your best. I mean. I know cleaning the stables for a week was supposed to be punishment, but it got me out of doing my usual tasks, so I wasn’t complaining. At the time, I was still new, so I was doing all the dull stuff like cleaning up the bathhouse, so I had no reason to complain about the royal stables.”

She forced a smile. His words did little to comfort her. Clair sounded like she was going to be impossible to please. Maybe if she disappointed Clair too many times, she’d be removed of her personal duties and just serve as a castle servant instead. Scrubbing the floors sounded better than putting up with Clair’s wild personality and demands.

“Anyway. You’ll be fine. Don’t worry too much okay? You may have to put up with Clair, but you’ll have privileges not available to other servants of the castle.”

“Such as?”

He grinned. “In social events, you’ll have the best view of the entertainment.”

“I suppose there’s always a positive.”

“Of course. You’ll have some time to yourself too. Like I said – you’re going to be fine. Clair will just tell you what is required of you and you just have to follow her instructions.” He paused then added, “I’d love to continue giving you a tour of the place, but we should probably head back.”

Lyra nodded, but didn’t speak further. What else was there to say? Ethan had explained all she needed to know for now. Clair was not going to be pleasant to work for and it didn’t seem like anything could impress her. The royals in her mother’s stories were always depicted as friendly and caring people. Clearly, she had never crossed paths with Clair before.

“So many other slaves would love to be in your position,” Ethan said, leading the way back to the servant’s castle quarters.

Lyra raised an eyebrow. As if that made her feel better. Was Ethan envious of her? He had been here for several years. She hadn’t been able to detect any jealousy from him, but perhaps he had just perfected the art of hiding it. Still, she was curious to know. “Do servants ever get promoted to a higher position?”

He shook his head. “Only if a slave or master dies, but otherwise you remain in the position you were given. If the master dies, the new owner can choose to keep the current ones or purchase new slaves. If a slave dies, they are simply replaced.”

“So, there’s still a chance you can become a personal servant to the royals?”

He shook his head. “Clair only accepts female slaves and Lance won’t take any for himself. The king has his own crew, but they tend to be older woman, more experienced. But it’s not something I aspire to have – I’m fortunate enough to be where I am now, and I couldn’t ask anything more,” he explained, keeping his gaze focused on the path ahead. Was he telling the truth? It was hard to tell without directly looking into his eyes.

“Right.”

Now he looked at her. “If you think your new position as Clair’s personal maid will disrupt our friendship, I can promise you now that it won’t. I won’t always be there for you, but I will always be your friend.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Ethan. I appreciate it.”

“We look out for each other here. Like I said. We’re a community. Oh. It seems our food is ready.”

She had been so caught up in the conversation that she hadn’t even paid much attention to their surroundings. She sniffed the air, catching the aroma of what smelled like chicken from the kitchen. Her stomach growled in response.

Ethan chuckled. “Seems like someone is hungry. Come on. Let’s head inside.”

Lyra didn’t need further encouragement.

* * *

Lance pulled his cape around him as he entered the wooden gates of Mahogany Town. Although the climate was warmer than it was in Blackthorn, it was still quite gusty thanks to a northern breeze from the mountains. The town was positioned just south of a lake towards the eastern borders of the Blackthorn Forest. It was known for its unique fish colony known as the magikarp which could only be found in this lake, and Edward ensured he would always protect the town in exchange for fish.

As for the people, they were simple peasants skilled in chopping down trees, catching fish and other menial tasks. Although the town had a few guards, these men were not experienced fighters – no more experienced than a farm boy given a weapon to wield. Such was the lives of the peasants whom lived outside Blackthorn’s borders. The villagers were hard at work as usual.

Lance saw men pushing carts down the dusty streets, transporting items from one side to the other. He saw women carrying bags of wheat to the bakery accompanied by their children whom also helped share the load. He saw Pryce heading back towards his office followed by a distressed peasant. That was his destination.

Several of the locals stopped their tasks when they noticed his presence. Although Lance wasn’t a frequent visitor, he was well known throughout the region. He could not be mistaken for someone else. Perhaps it was the distinguishable black cape with golden trimmings that made him so easy to identify. Or perhaps it was the dark shade of red of his hair that made him recognizable since it was uncommon. Whispers were exchanged, but no one pointed.

Lance ignored them and quickened his pace to close the distance between himself and Pryce. “Pryce,” he called out.

The man stopped in his tracks and turned around. Relief washed over his face. “Lance! Finally a face that I’m pleased to see.” He placed a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of friendship then pulled it back.

The peasants following him also stopped, glanced at Lance then retreated, uttering their apologies. It was almost as if they were afraid of him.

“We received word of troubles in this town. Grandfather sent me here to solve it.”

Pryce pointed towards the door. “I would prefer we talk behind closed doors.”

Lance nodded. “Of course.”

Pryce opened the door and Lance followed him inside. Despite being the mayor of the town, Pryce’s home was no different from the peasants. It was small and contained three rooms with two open windows each, providing minimal source of light. There was one room for sleeping, one room for eating and the other for cooking and cleaning duties.

“What’s the problem?” Lance said, sitting himself down on one of the wooden chairs.

“It’s the wolves… Well, one wolf. He’s taken up residence at the lake and villagers are too scared to approach the water out of fear they will be killed. If we can’t fish from the lake, then we can’t trade our goods in exchange for coin, and your grandfather will not receive the fish he enjoys so much,” Pryce explained. He walked over to the northern wall and drew Lance’s attention towards a painting. There was a full moon and a pack of wolves beneath it, surrounding a bloodied corpse. “The wolf arrived four days ago, and he will not leave.”

“There hasn’t been a sighting of a werewolf in over five years. Why now?”

Pryce shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Wolves haven’t been sighted this far north in over five years. For a wolf to come this far north, they must be frightened of something… or someone.” His thoughts drifted to the necromancers. If anything could cause a wolf to flee in terror it would be a cultist of dark magic. Why else would such a powerful creature leave?

Pryce raised an eyebrow. “And what would a wolf be afraid of?”

“Magic.”

“Wolves are products of magic.”

“There are different forms of magic that exist.”

Pryce frowned. “You are referring to The Times of Trouble?”

“We know it happened. We have written accounts of the chaos that occurred.”

“And you think the survivors are regrouping to retaliate?”

Lance drew in a deep breath and nodded. “We can never rule out the possibility. There is no other reason why the wolves would come this far north, especially in such an open space besides a lake, especially not so close to town. Something had to have scared them off.”

“If there was someone else out there, don’t you think your scouts would’ve found something?” Pryce challenged.

Lance sighed. Pryce raised a solid point. If the necromancers had indeed returned, why hadn’t they found something earlier? Unless they had been hiding in the shadows biding their time waiting for the right moment? Necromancers drew strength from the dead. The greater the number of the dead, the stronger their power would become.

“I searched the forests earlier and came across some troubling signs of dark magic.”

“And you have informed your grandfather?”

Lance nodded. “Yes, but he is not convinced.”

“You are referring to necromancy.”

Again, Lance nodded. “What else could it be? A five-pointed star on each of the foreheads of the bodies. Certainly not the work of bandits. They wouldn’t kill them – but rob the people and sell them off to become slaves.”

Pryce fell silent, rubbing his chin, deep in thought. After a few moments he spoke again. “A five-pointed star is not enough proof of necromancy activity, Lance. Let us focus on the matter of the werewolf instead before jumping to more conclusions.”

“Right, of course,” Lance remarked, trying to conceal his disappointment in his tone. “I will return when the problem is resolved but until then, be sure not to let anyone venture to close to the lake.”

Pryce nodded. “Then I wish you the best of luck.”

Lance stood up and headed towards the door. Knowing there was nothing else needed to be said he left without saying another word.


	8. Hints of Cultist Activity

_“Find the three holy relics and bring them home.”_

_Morty nodded. “It will be done.”_

_“I have received the blessing from N. You have been chosen to serve the Phoenix,” the woman said, placing her hands on his shoulders. “He has travelled to our region to help us locate the three holy relics that will resurrect our Phoenix from the ashes. N wishes he could undertake this task himself, but he can’t be exposed to sunlight.”_

_N, the leader of Order of Ash, and the only man who had survived death by becoming death himself. The full details of the story were unknown to Morty, but it was rumoured the man had been cursed with three holy relics which had cursed his soul to eternal damnation. All he knew was that the man could not rest until the three holy relics were found and the curse reversed so he could die a true death._

_“You will need this document to gain entrance,” Naoko said, digging a hand into her pouch to present him a small scroll with a red seal on it. “Taken from a soldier of Blackthorn. This will grant you entrance into the city without question. Do not become distracted by your environment – stay focused on your task of finding the three relics. I will come to you when the relics are found. My spies will know.”_

_The ravens of course._

_“I will succeed.”_

_“I know you will.”_

Morty pulled out of his thoughts as he reached the gates of the infamous city of Blackthorn. Rumours had said the city was protected by a thirty-foot wall made of iron, but those rumours were proven to be false. The wall was not made of iron and it certainly wasn’t as tall as the stories claimed. Rather, it was made of stone and only reached a height of around fifteen feet.

“Ah, Blackthorn. I never thought I’d be setting foot here so soon,” he murmured. Dropping a hand into the satchel around his waist, he pulled out the document Naoko had given him and approached the gate. “I demand entrance into the city!” he called out.

“State your purpose, stranger.”

“I’m a mercenary seeking an audience with your leaders.”

There was nothing at first then he heard what sounded like bars being lifted. He heard some grunts from behind the doors. Obviously, the bars were of reasonable weight. Some poor soldier had the role of lifting the bars every time the gate needed to be opened. Moments later, the gates started to open. Two guards looked at him, their faces concealed by their closed helms. Both guards were dressed in the standard chainmail and equipped with a sword and shield each.

“Without a pass you will not be allowed entrance. Rules have changed since the war,” one of the guards said, extending a hand expectantly. “We have the right to deny you of entrance.”

“It’s a good thing I have a pass then,” Morty said, handing over the document. “My name is Morty and I’ve come an awfully long way to serve your king.”

The soldier looked him up and down. “Where are you from?”

“Ecruteak City.”

“The city of golden leaves,” the other guard said. “I’ve been there once. Before the war. How fares the city?”

Morty nodded. “All but the towers have been restored.”

The guard looked him up and down and made a dismissive sound. “Well, Morty, you look to be a fine healthy young man, but what makes you think your services are needed?” He handed the pass back.

Morty took it and put it away. “It’s a dangerous world beyond these walls, and sometimes people die and need to be replaced.” He took a few steps towards the guards. “I came here alone without a horse nor a companion. As you have been to Ectruteak before then you would know the journey takes several days by foot. An inexperienced man would perish to the dangers in the woods yet here I am unscathed.”

“Well he does make a point there, Falkner,” the man to the right said. He was slightly taller. “He travelled all the way from Ecutreak to reach our gates. The king is always looking for strong recruits and this one looks in good health as you said.”

Morty grinned. “Then allow me to prove myself worthy.”

Falkner examined opened the scroll and read the contents of it mouthing the words in silence. Morty wasn’t sure what it even said – he never had the chance to read it himself – but he could make out a few words just by looking at the guard. King’s guard and service were just some of the words he managed to pick up on. 

“I will escort you to the barracks. From there, you will be given details on the quests you must complete to prove yourself a worthy addition of the king’s service.” He looked at the document once more, as if trying to see if there was some fault with it, then handed it back. “If you do not pass the tests, you will be asked to leave our walls.”

“Then I shall not fail.”

Falkner looked at the other guard. “Brock. Stay here.”

“Of course.”

Morty looked at Falkner and said, “I will erase all your doubts about me.”

“I’ve heard that one before.”

“Oh, so you have several people coming through ready to serve?” Morty answered as he followed Falkner through the gates. He noticed there was a young lad in charge of opening and closing the gates. The boy was lean and pale, and looked on the verge of collapsing. Probably a slave. Why would such a menial task be given to a soldier?

“Normally peasants who aspire to be something greater, but of course, they don’t get accepted because they can’t afford to be trained properly. It’s a role normally reserved for the rich because it guarantees them security for their families even after their deaths,” Falkner explained, as he guided Morty through the busy streets of the city. Although Ecruteak was a kingdom itself, it was much smaller in both size and population than Blackthorn.

“That make sense I suppose.”

Falkner continued. “Soldiers who wish to commit further become part of the King’s Guard. They don’t have to sleep in the barracks, but within the castle. Of course, there are sacrifices. Chuck is the general commander of the soldiers and he is also the recruiting officer, but it’s Lance who oversees military matters.”

“Lance. I’ve heard the name. The King’s grandson.”

Falkner nodded. “We’re not high enough in the ranks to be part of the King’s Guard, but Lance does come by the barracks every so often to check on the recruits and ensure we are up to standard. Sometimes, he’ll assign us specific missions when the King’s Guard are on other duties. There is a royal wedding to be hosted within our kingdom in the next week or so, and they will be busy with the parade and security. That means us soldiers being left to carry out important scouting missions.”

“And what sort of missions are we talking about?” From the stories he had heard, the soldiers had an interest in hunting down wild mages and wolves. They didn’t seem to have any knowledge of his people. The less they knew, the better it was as they would have more time to prepare the necessary arrangements.

“We keep an eye out for trouble and if we find trouble, we do our best to learn all we can about it. Sometimes we’ll be sent to the forest to look for signs of mages and the wolves. They’re a big concern here.” Falkner continued to lead the way through the winding streets towards the barracks. They passed by several small groups of soldiers on patrol. “If we find something suspicious, we bring it back for the scholars to study it. Protecting the kingdom is our top priority. Protecting her allies is also important and that is why the king will sometimes send us to our allies to protect their borders.”

“Trade routes do have to be protected,” Morty remarked. His people didn’t bother with trade – they saw no need for it when they could just take it for themselves, but he knew the larger kingdoms relied heavily on trade. Without the smaller villages, Blackthorn would no longer be able to receive goods such as fish within the kingdom. But it wasn’t just valuable goods the villagers offered – they offered an extra pair of eyes serving as outposts. If the allies fell Blackthorn would have less vision making it easier for enemies to invade. 

“Indeed. We can’t afford to lower our guards. We’ve lived in a period of peace for many years now, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be careful. You’ll be taken directly to the barracks, and if Chuck agrees, you’ll have to take the trials immediately. We don’t have time to waste,” Falkner explained.

“Right to business then. These trials. What can you tell me about them?”

“We need to ensure every recruit can do the basics. You’ll have to do three tasks. If you pass, you’ll be taken to the king and inducted into the king’s service.” Falkner drew out his long blade temporarily drawing attention to the king’s seal on the blade’s hilt. It was a symbol of a dragon’s head. “Every soldier is given one of these blades, but only Lance wields Dragonite’s Bane.”

“Dragonite’s Bane, huh?”

“An old sword forged with dragon’s fire many centuries ago in a time when dragon’s ruled.”

Morty nodded. So, Lance had a fancy sword. It didn’t matter. “Right. That’s of little concern to me. I’m more interested in these trials. As I told you earlier, I am confident I will pass them.”

Falkner scoffed. “That’s what all the potential recruits say.”

“And what is the quality of these recruits?”

“Usually commoners hoping to become something greater.

“I assure you, I’m far more capable than any commoner.”

Falkner put his sword away and looked at Morty. “I will reserve judgement until I see you pass with my own eyes. If you do end up passing, you’ll be assigned to me. I watch over the new recruits for the first six months.”

“Well, I guess we ought to get to know each other a little bit better then since you’ll be seeing a lot more of me in the near future,” Morty replied with a grin.

Falkner ignored him. “Let’s continue moving then. The sooner I’m rid of you, the better.”

The man didn’t speak again, and Morty just rolled his eyes. Don’t get distracted, Naoko had said. Do not attempt to make friends or make yourself too comfortable, he told himself. Only do what was necessary to get what he needed. There was no point in growing attached to a city that would be razed to the ground.

The barracks was walled off from the rest of the city. Morty supposed it was to separate the soldiers from the peasants though he didn’t understand why. The building itself was made of stone, much like the material of the castle and its fortifications itself. He could hear the clash of steel in the courtyard to the back of the building and the grunts of soldiers in training. He never understood the training regimes of the soldiers of the city. From the stories he had heard, their regimes were heavily structured. For the people of his cult, training took place in the real world outside the safety of the walls.

“I suppose this is all very new to you,” Falkner said.

Morty nodded. “Yes. My people just give us a training session that covers the basics then they leave you in the middle of nowhere in dangerous territory. The fun part is finding your way back out with the scalps of your enemies to prove your success. They always leave us in the same place – a dark cavern beneath the mountains where many dangers lurk. Many people die, but that just proves they were too weak.”

“Barbarians then.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“We call them uncivilized people,” Falkner replied, screwing his face up in disgust as if repulsed by the very sight of Morty. “A lack of culture. No structure. From what I’ve heard you people from the south even breed with your own blood.”

“You are terribly ill-informed,” Morty replied with an amused grin. “We don’t even get along with our own families – why would we want to breed with them? The job of the parent is to raise the child until puberty, and then the elders would take ownership of the child. They would teach us how to write and read, combat and survival skills.” And magic practice, but he kept that part to himself.

“That’s what sets us folk apart from you barbarians. We care for our people – we look out for each other. Parents play an important role in their child’s life for the entirety of it. That’s why our people hold a dominant position in this region because we have strong bonds maintained throughout life.”

With a shrug of his shoulders, Morty said, “We might not live in a fancy castle, but I can assure you, my people don’t need to hide behind walls to be effective. There’s a much bigger world outside these walls and many threats.”

Falkner’s words meant little to him. Clearly, the man had never ventured far outside Blackthorn Castle otherwise he’d have an entirely different perspective. When enough dead had been sacrificed, the Phoenix would be reborn, and all nonbelievers would be burned to ash. Not even Blackthorn’s walls would protect them. Still, it would be amusing to watch these people try.

“Well. Here we are,” Falkner said, coming to a halt. He tilted his head forward, drawing Morty’s attention to a winding path leading up a gentle slope.

There were red banners lined up on both sides of the path with a symbol of a golden dragon’s head stitched onto the cloth. At the end of the path was the barracks itself – it was a tower made of stone where the foot soldiers lived overlooking the city streets. This tower was five levels in height and was probably home to least fifty to hundred soldiers. He suspected the knighthood lived in the castle keep separating them from the commoners. Although he couldn’t see the courtyard from this side of the tower, he knew there’d be one behind it for the soldier’s training grounds.

“Let the fun and games begin.”

Falkner ignored him. “We will speak to Chuck. Follow me.”

Without saying another word, Morty followed Falkner up the winding path. This would be life for the next couple of months. He would learn what he could; see the weaknesses of the city; learn all he could about the royal family; obtain the knowledge to retrieve all the relics then he would leave and bring his observations to his people. The proud city would fall, and it would be because of his efforts.

.

Although the path to the Lake of Rage was a short one, it was no easy walk. The lake could only be reached by a winding uphill path through the thick forest. A thick canopy blocked out most of the sunlight, and wind blowing down from the snowy mountains only made it a cold unwelcoming walk. It was like being forever trapped in winter.

It wasn’t long before Lance felt the familiar burn in his legs as he began the ascent up the hill. He wasn’t unfamiliar to steep pathways, but it was much easier traversing the slopes with a horse. The air was also thicker here because of the higher altitude, and his vision was lessened because of thick fog rolling through the woods. Fortunately, years of combat and survival training made the walk bearable.

His hand rested on his sword as he moved through the woods, keeping his eyes peeled for any signs of danger. He had heard rumours of snowy dog-like beasts living on the lower slopes of the mountains known as absols. Bards often told tales of absols being able to sense impending doom. To see one with your own eyes was a sign of bad things to come. Lance had yet to see one, and he hoped never to lay eyes upon a creature.

“Stop.”

Turning his head towards the source of noise, Lance was surprised to find a young woman with long blonde hair standing behind a couple of bushes, her dark eyes watching him. Her clothes made of simple cloths of leather hide, were torn. Upon closer look, he noticed there was a mixture of blood and dirt on her body. He looked for a weapon but saw nothing.

“Can I help you?” Lance said.

She slowly walked around the bush, her eyes never leaving his face. The girl didn’t even seem to blink. “You bear a great burden on your shoulders.”

Was this woman part of the town? Perhaps she had been forced to leave after committing too many crimes. Many of the towns and villages punished those found guilty of crime by sending them into the woods to die. “Indeed,” Lance remarked then gestured towards the lake. “I’m here to deal with an issue at the lake. You wouldn’t happen to know of the wolf that has moved here, would you?”

“You fear the wolf?”

He approached her. “The local villagers can’t visit the lake to fish. Without fish they can’t trade for other goods and that means the people here will die of starvation. Fishing is what keeps the people here alive for another day and this wolf is dangerous. If you have anything that could help me then please let me know, otherwise I will continue on.”

She remained silent.

Figuring she wasn’t going to speak further and that he was wasting precious time, Lance walked past her. He only managed to take a few steps when the woman stepped out in front of him. He came to an abrupt halt. “Please step aside. We can talk when I return.”

“We won’t be meeting again. But you should know this,” she said, beginning to walk in a circle around him. She stepped closer within arm’s reach then grabbed his left arm, her grip surprisingly firm. Lowering her voice to almost a whisper, she said, “I’m so glad you and I finally have a chance to meet.” She released her grip.

He stepped back, hesitant. Was she a mage? It would explain her ragged appearance and the dirt and blood on her clothes. She seemed to be in an otherwise healthy condition; no signs of a sickness on her skin nor did she look underfed. If she was indeed a mage then it would be in his grandfather’s best interest to have her brought back to the kingdom and executed before the public, but she seemed so young. “What is your name and why are you here hiding in the forest?” Perhaps if he asked more questions, he could learn enough about her to make a judgement.

“My name is Yellow. My parents called me that after my hair.” She raised both her hands and turned around in a circle before stopping to face him again. Lowering her hands, she added, “And this is my home. I was once like you. I had a family. I had a home. But then the soldiers came, and they took everything from me. My parents were slaughtered like animals and then they turned their attention on me. I was beaten. I was raped again and again. All because I was different,” she said, her words laced with controlled anger that hadn’t been present earlier.

“I’m sorry.”

Her gaze hardened. “Are you really? Because these people came from your kingdom. They bore the king’s symbol on their capes.” She stepped in closer once more and grabbed both his arms. Continuing to maintain her gaze with his own, she tightened her grip and uttered a few words in a language he didn’t understand. At first, he felt nothing then a burning sensation in his fingertips. “You hate us because we’re different. You track our people down like we’re wild animals for sport, yet we do not bring harm to you.”

He tried to pull his arms free to fight back, but he couldn’t move. He was under the influence of her magic. Was she trying to set him on fire from the inside? Could a mage even do that? He didn’t know. It only showed just how little he understood the mages and their magic. But even though he was unable to defend himself, he wasn’t going to show her any form of weakness.

Tightening his jaw, he said, “You’re proving exactly why your kind needs to be stopped.” The burning sensation stopped. That took him by surprise. Perhaps her magic wasn’t strong enough, but the look of surprise on her face suggested that wasn’t the case.

Her eyebrows arched. She looked down at her hands then up at him again. “…What are you doing?”

“I’m not doing anything.”

She pulled back her hands and took a step back. “…You made it stop.”

“Your spell? Perhaps you are not as powerful as you think you are.”

She shook her head, her eyes growing wide. Fearful. “No. No that’s not right. This always works. You should’ve burned from the inside out and become engulfed in flames, but here you still stand, unharmed.” She further distanced herself from him, retreating into the woods. “…You regenerate faster than a normal human. My magic can’t make an impact on you and it should…. Tell me this. Have you ever felt sick before? Unexplained symptoms that can’t be cured by normal means?”

His grandfather always told him not to engage in conversation with a mage, but his curiosity to know more made him want to stay. Her magic wasn’t working on him and without her magic, what else did she have that could cause him harm? “And what would you say if I said yes to that question?”

“Then I’d say you’re something more than just a human. You’ve been cursed with powerful magic unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, but I’ve heard about it. Curses were placed upon people to cripple and weaken them; designed not to kill, but to make a victim suffer because there is no suffering in death.” Her hands dropped to her sides. “Whoever placed this curse on you was afraid of you.”

He threw his arms out to the side. “What is that supposed to mean?” He hadn’t ever crossed paths with a mage before and wolves couldn’t perform magic. It wasn’t as if there was anyone within the kingdom that could perform such magic either so how could he have been cursed? “You’re not making any sense. Who could possibly be afraid of me?”

“Some of the biggest threats are the ones that come from beyond the grave.”

“You speak of the necromancers.”

She seemed surprised. “Yes. They exist.”

His suspicions were correct. Necromancy was a threat, but even so, the words of this woman would not convince his grandfather. He would need hard evidence; not the words of a mage, but how was he supposed to find it if he wasn’t sure what to look for? Strange symbols could only go so far. He needed living proof. “Is that why you are here in the forest? Are you hiding from them?”

“Yes.”

“But why… how could they place a curse on me? The kingdom has been free of magic in over a decade. If they saw me as such a threat, why haven’t they sent anyone after me yet?” They had power the dead. Surely, they could do more to him than simply give him a headache and muscle aches for a few days every month.

“My guess is they want you alive.”

“For what?”

“Maybe you are part of a bigger plan.”

He gave a sardonic laugh. “Right.”

She tilted her head to one side. “Magic gave your grandfather the right to rule the kingdom; in return, he sent all the mages away and ordered them to be hunted down, the wolves of whom he harbours a strong dislike towards. I know you want to kill me or at least take me back to your kingdom to face judgement, but does that not make you the villain in this story?” She came towards him again, seeming to have regained confidence after the surprise of her failure with magic.

Instinctively, he dropped a hand to his sword and withdrew it from its sheath. Pointing the tip of the blade at her, he said, “I am no villain. I am loyal to the crown and will do as asked. I should take you back, but I can’t afford to waste further time. I am truly sorry, but I can’t allow you to continue roaming these lands unguarded.” She wasn’t a child. Probably a teenager, and even though he swore an oath to himself not to kill children and juveniles, she was a mage and that alone was worthy of death.

Her jaw tightened and her posture stiffened. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Your magic can’t harm me, but it can harm others. You made a threat against me earlier and I can’t allow you to try the same trick to other people. Consider this penance for your sins.”

“No! Wait! I can help-”

Before she could even finish her sentence, he thrust his sword into her stomach with enough force that it went right through to the other side.

She gasped, blood spilling out of her mouth, as her hands fell to the blade, as if she still had a chance to live by removing it. Her strength rapidly drained and her knees buckled before giving way. She fell against him, but he immediately withdrew his sword and pushed her back. She continued to gasp and claw at the ground, blood quickly surrounding her.

“I wish it did not have to come to this, but you are a danger to us all.”

At long last Yellow took her final breath, her eyes closing for the final time.

.

Chuck was a large man in both height and width. He was the tallest man in the room and a good foot taller than everyone else - at least a little over six foot. Not only was he tall, but he had a solid imposing frame. Not someone he wanted to get on the wrong side with. At least not in a physical confrontation.

“So, you’re hoping to become part of the military. What’s your name and where are you from?” Chuck demanded, his arms folded across his chest, a stern look on his dark features.

“My name is Morty and I’m from Ecruteak.”

“Ah, Ecruteak City. It’s been several years since I last visited the city. The place was burned down during the war, wasn’t it?”

Morty nodded. “Yes, and we have rebuilt it all except for the towers.”

The man gave an approving grunt. “And you have come here seeking to join our army. What skills do you bring?”

“I’m a mercenary, trained in combat the moment I could walk and talk. I don’t mean to brag, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t able to hold my own in a fight. I’m a dual blades wielder, and I am competent with a bow. I can read and write well and decipher the old language of the first people of this world.” _And I can cast spells that can bring an armoured man to his knees gasping for breath without even having to lay a finger,_ he thought.

Chuck didn’t seem convinced. The man tilted his head up, down and up again, analysing him from head to toe. It was almost as if he was searching for some physical deformity to prove his doubt. “Very well. We aren’t currently recruiting any soldiers this month, but since you are here… It would be rude to turn you away so soon considering the travel you must have taken to reach this place.”

Falkner looked to speak, but kept his mouth closed. The man was probably trying to find a reason why Morty shouldn’t be allowed to undertake the trials.

Morty wasn’t even sure why the man seemed to dislike him so much. Perhaps he felt threatened by him. “What sort of trials must I face?”

“There are three trials: The Blackthorn Brawl, The Archery Competition and the Knaves Challenge. The Blackthorn Brawl will require you to show us your combat skills with a wooden club. You will face our swordplay instructor, Wallace. The Archery Competition will require you to shoot down more than five glass bottles with only ten arrows. If your fingers slip, or your aim is off, your chances of passing will be severely lessened. Finally, the Knaves Challenge. You will be given a rhyme written by our local surgeon, Samuel Oak.” He pulled out a small piece of parchment and held it out for Morty to take.

Morty accepted the paper and unfurled it. The rhyme read: I’ve hidden three feathers, scattered them wide, placed white in a box, and locked it inside. Blue followed termite-tracks, down where they ran, green in the pocket of same-coloured man. _Simple enough,_ he concluded. He had to find three feathers. “So, I have to disarm a hazardous trap, pickpocket some poor citizen and unlock a chest.”

A simple task to achieve with the aid of magic though he had to ensure he didn’t get caught practicing. All it would take was a single command and hopefully Chuck wasn’t watching too closely. Although he was trained in basic thievery skills, it would quicken the process using weak magic. 

Chuck nodded. “That is correct.”

He seemed impressed. Clearly, not many people passed the trials judging by the look on his face. That meant many people within the kingdom lacked formal education in reading and writing. He had a clear advantage.

Morty was eager to begin. “No sense in standing about, then. Where do we start?”

“Follow me.” Chuck turned his back to him and headed towards the entrance of the barracks.

Falkner allowed Morty to enter first as if he thought he would turn around and leave. The man clearly thought the worst of him, and he wasn’t sure what had given him the impression he was not to be trusted. Perhaps it was a city-folk thing to distrust outsiders.

Morty walked through the door. The barracks wasn’t anything spectacular. It reminded him of the abandoned dungeons in his birthplace beneath the Burned Tower. The only source of light came through the circular windows which were no bigger than a human head. Strange. As he followed Chuck through the dimly lit corridor, he heard voices from one of the rooms. Two females. Probably servants cleaning.

“And the darkness? You’re sure it’s spreading?”

“Haven’t you felt it? The sense that something bad is going to happen to us?”

“What do you mean, Sabrina?”

“I get these dreams at night, Roxanne. I see bloodied corpses stretching out across the land as far as the eyes can see. I see ravens feasting on the flesh of the dead and the dying. I venture closer to the bodies and as I walk past them, I see strange markings on their foreheads. A symbol. A five-pointed star. I reach out to touch them and I feel… a cold chill race through my body and then the eyes open and I awaken from my nightmare in a cold sweat.”

Morty froze. Visions? Ordinary mages did not specialize in the art of divination and nor did his people. Oracles were rare; in fact, he had often been told the oracles had all died and so had their magic, but it seems that wasn’t the case. If this Sabrina woman really was an oracle, then it was likely she had received visions of the Phoenix. Perhaps she was simply a paranoid fearful woman and her visions reflected her deepest fears. It seemed she was a slave – no woman served in the military in the cities – and if she spoke no one would believe the words of a madwoman. Still, he knew he had to be cautious.

“What? Been a long time since you heard a woman speak?” Falkner said, giving Morty a hard shove. “Or are you getting cold feet now?”

He really seemed desperate for him to fail. Holding back a chuckle, he said, “You seem awfully concerned about me. I should be flattered that you care so much.”

He was greeted with another hard shove and almost stumbled into Chuck, but he regained his composure. That would’ve been embarrassing.

Showing no signs of annoyance, Chuck said, “The servant girls are often exchanging gossip. We have them clean the barracks when the boys are busy with drills because we don’t want our men hearing untrue stories. What you heard is not true. Oracles seek to know the future, but no future is set in stone. We are in control of our own destinies.”

“Fair point,” Morty remarked, as he followed Chuck towards the training grounds out the back.

The arena itself was marked by a sand pit and it was large enough for at least twenty horses to be standing in rows of four. Chuck walked over to the weapons stand and picked up the wooden club then handed it over to Morty. The man he was supposed to be fighting was already at the arena. What was his name again? Wallace? He was tall skinny man with long light-coloured blue hair. A result of hair dye gone wrong Morty assumed. The man was wearing the same chainmail the common soldiers wore.

“Ah, a new challenger steps into the arena,” the man crowed, sauntering over.

“Indeed,” Chuck said. “This one is quite confident.” He handed a club to Morty.

Wallace looked him up and down. “Then allow me to test your worth. We get a lot of you folk coming through eager to improve their lives, but you have to get through me first.”

“I promise I won’t disappoint,” Morty replied, stepping into the pit.

Morty started the fight, swinging the club at Wallace, testing the man’s movements. The hard wood successfully hit the side of Wallace’s jaw causing him to stumble backwards, but Wallace recovered, and he swung back with brute force. Morty took a step back, narrowly avoiding the side of the club. _So the man had power, but all that heavy armour just makes you less agile_ , he thought. 

Wallace swung the club again. This time, Morty parried the blow and brought his right foot forward, catching Wallace in the knee. Although his foot did connect with metal, he did cause him to stumble back a little. _Was this the best Blackthorn had to offer?_ He waited for Wallace to recover to give the man a false sense of security.

Wallace circled him then lunged forward, swinging his club. Again, Morty evaded the blow then kept his distance waiting for Wallace to attack once more. He was waiting for the right moment. The perfect counter. When the man lunged, Morty parried the blow and kicked him again with his other foot earning a grunt from his opponent. Morty ducked as Wallace swung, then swung his bat at the instructor’s leg, catching him to the side of his right knee.

“Fighting dirty, eh?”

“Have to do whatever it takes to win. There’s no honour in the field of battle,” Morty replied. 

Wallace spat at the sand then charged once more. “A true mercenary you are.”

“And one that could be of great benefit to your people.”

Wallace charged. Morty stepped to the side then spun around and swung his club, the club connecting with the man’s back. Although the armour absorbed most of the blow, Wallace still stumbled. Now that the man was vulnerable, Morty rammed into him from behind and tackled him to the ground. The man’s club fell out of his hand. Leaning down, he whispered into the instructor’s ear, “I think I win our little fight.” He stood up.

Wallace climbed to his feet. He refused to meet Chuck’s gaze. Perhaps he was ashamed.

Morty looked to the spectators. Falkner had his arms crossed with a displeased look, but Chuck seemed impressed… Or at least he didn’t look angry or dissatisfied.

He walked over to Morty and reached out his hand in a gesture of respect. “Impressive. Your people have trained you well enough.”

Morty accepted the handshake. “We were put through a rigorous schedule in my hometown.”

“And it shows, but now we will test your skills in archery. Please, follow me.” Chuck walked around the arena and turned a corner.

They were now on the northern side of the barracks. Morty saw several goblets lined up on multiple wooden benches of different heights up against the northern wall. There was also a weapons rack nearby. He could see a short bow.

“You will need to grab the short bow on the rack and load it with the bolted arrows. You will then have to shoot down five different goblets and you will have only six arrows available meaning you can only miss once.”

“No moving targets?”

“We used to have men carrying combat dummies, but many of the recruits failed to hit the target and instead hit the men. As you can imagine that did not end well and many injuries were had. When they join the ranks, they will practice firing at moving targets,” Chuck explained.

Morty nodded. Seemed fair. Perhaps a little easy, but if a man could not fire at a still target then what hope did he have in hitting a moving one? He walked over to the archery rack and picked up the bow. The people in his cult were trained to use various sorts of weapons to adapt to the situation at hand. In most cases, his people tried to limit their magic use in the heat of a battle – casting spells was far more strenuous than it appeared. It also took time to cast the correct the spell and, in many cases, the enemy would not allow you the time. It was best to learn to not rely on magic unless necessary. He loaded the bow with the first arrow and aimed at the first goblet on the lowest bench. He fired. His arrow struck its target.

“Beginner’s luck…” Falkner murmured.

Morty aimed at the next goblet on a higher level. He fired again and missed. It was intentional of course; he didn’t want to make it look too easy. He loaded the crossbow again and fired once more. The arrow contacted the goblet, knocking it over onto the ground below. He repeated the steps several more times until his arrows had all been used. All goblets were on the ground. He put the bow back.

“And that is another challenge down. Only one more to go and I’m officially part of the army.”

Chuck nodded. “Yes. Do you remember the rhyme?”

“Of course.” _I’ve hidden three feathers, scattered them wide, placed white in a box, and locked it inside. Blue followed termite-tracks, down where they ran, green in the pocket of same-coloured man,_ he repeated in his mind. Disarm a trap, pickpocket and unlock a chest.

“Very well. Falkner will follow you and ensure you have completed the task. We will wait here for your return. You have less than an hour.”

Morty didn’t waste any time. He followed Falkner to the eastern side of the barracks. All the resources for passing were present. Morty turned his attention to the chest first.

“You’ll find three lock picks beside the chest for you to use. Once you have used them all up that’s it. You won’t get any more so be careful.” The man stayed near the eastern wall of the barracks, pressing his back against the cool surface.

Morty walked over to the chest and dropped down to his knees. He picked up the lock picks and inserted the first one into the hole. “I have to make this look convincing…” he said, as he snapped the lock pick in half. Glancing over his shoulder, he gave Falkner a casual shrug of his shoulders then turned back to the chest. This time, he carefully rotated the picks until the lock popped open. He pulled back the lid and grabbed the blue feather inside.

Climbing to his feet, he shifted his gaze to the next chest. This one was covered in vines. “How to remove you…” he murmured. It wasn’t as if he had access to any weapons to cut them safely. He couldn’t use magic either because that would be too obvious - he had used other means. But what else could he do? Falkner wasn’t going to allow him to leave. There had to be something within the training grounds. He looked around searching for something that could be of use. There. Two wooden sticks no longer than a dagger just lying a few feet away. Fire. Fire would burn the vines away allowing him to easily break them to reach the chest.

Grabbing the two sticks, he started rubbing them together until he felt the sticks burn hot. It wasn’t long before flame appeared. He quickly pressed the burning stick against the vines before the flames consumed the wood. The vines caught alight and within seconds burned. He waited a few minutes for the vines to cool down before pulling the vines away. Now he was able to open the chest. Pulling back the lid, he reached down and grabbed the white feather. Only one feather remained.

He looked around for a man wearing green and spotted him at the opposite end of the courtyard, his back turned to him. It seemed a bit odd – wouldn’t the man suspect someone was going to attempt to take a feather from him? Morty bent his knees slightly and slowly walked across the grass towards him, keeping his eyes trained on the man’s head in case he turned around. The man was talking to himself. Perhaps he had taken one too many drinks before coming here. He neared closer until he was within arm’s reach of the pocket. Never taking his eyes off the man, Morty reached into the pocket and carefully drew his hand back with the final feather in hand.

“Too easy,” he murmured, walking away from the strange man. Holding up the three feathers, he grinned at Falkner. “Looks like I’m done here. Are you impressed?”

Falkner folded his arms. “You got lucky.”

“One of these days you’ll be thanking me.” _Perhaps I might even spare your life_ , he thought. He didn’t wait for Falkner to respond and instead made his way back towards Chuck, presenting the feathers to the man. “I’m done. I have the three feathers as you can see.”

Chuck took the feathers. “Congratulations. How did you find the tests?”

“You want the truth? They weren’t exactly challenging,” Morty answered.

Chuck chuckled. “Indeed. They are not. We simply look for our potential recruits to pass the basics. If they can’t do that then they will not last a single day within the barracks. It’s usually the peasants that sign up and many peasants are not trained in combat. These tests are simple, yet effective in filtering out those with potential.” He handed the feathers to Wallace who placed them in a small pouch made of rabbit hide.

“So, what happens next?”

Chuck looked at Falkner. “Falkner will be your mentor. He will tell you the rules of service and he will accompany you on quests. No soldier travels beyond the walls alone.” Falkner opened his mouth to protest, but Chuck silenced him with a raised hand. “My word is final. Morty has shown a lot of potential. It has been many months since we’ve found someone suitable. You will receive instructions on your first task tomorrow morning.”

“Already?” Falkner blurted.

“The other soldiers are busy. Besides, I have enough confidence in Morty to know he will survive this mission. Perhaps he can teach you a thing or two about surviving in the wilderness, Falkner.”

Falkner grumbled. “I think it will be the other way around.”

“I’ll leave you two alone. One of the girls will bring you the mission details in the morning.” Chuck said his farewells and left the area.

Falkner faced Morty. “I’ll take you to our room, so you can make yourself comfortable.”

“Are you going to give me a tour?”

“There isn’t much to show.” He started to walk away.

Morty kept his mouth shut figuring there was nothing much else to say and followed Falkner inside the barracks. This would be his life for the next couple of months until he succeeded in his task. Best to make the most of it whilst sticking to the kingdom rules.

**.**

Lance pushed the incident with Yellow aside. He couldn’t dwell on the past. He had to keep moving forward and investigate the issue at the Lake of Rage as promised. It was his duty. The girl’s death was unavoidable. She had attacked him first and he had to defend himself.

He glanced down at his arms remembering where she had touched him. He was supposed to be consumed by fire, yet the magic had done nothing. Why? That was the part that troubled him. Why had her magic done nothing? What made him different from other people? It wasn’t as if her magic was weak – he could see the fear and surprise it in her eyes when her magic did little. Perhaps it was the medicine Samuel had given him. Had that made him immune somehow?

He continued walking along the dirt path. Years of people using this same route with their horse-led carts had caused the grass not to grow properly. With grass not an issue, he was able to spot paw prints on the dirt. Dropping to his knees, he examined the prints. Wolf prints. Rising to his feet again, he continued moving forward.

Soon, he reached the lake. He wasn’t sure why it was called the Lake of Rage; some people said it was because it was frustrating trying to catch a decent sized fish. Other people said it was because of the chaos that happened during the Times of Trouble. He was above the fog now and was able to see his surroundings. There were pine trees around the edges of the lake and a few rocks as well that had tumbled down from the mountains. The lake itself was bigger than the town and its waters were as clear and blue as a cloudless sky.

“Well, I should be flattered to receive a visit from the royal prince.”

Lance spun around and drew out his blade. A man with sky blue hair and tan skin emerged from the bushes. He was dressed in torn leather clothing and Lance noted there were several bloody stains on the cloth. Evidence of blood being spilled. The man was unarmed, but he didn’t seem concerned. He came towards Lance without fear, his blue eyes fixed on him.

“Keep your distance, wolf,” Lance remarked, pointing the tip of his blade in the man’s direction.

The man threw his arms up in the air. “Ah, you know what I am? Of course, you do. You’ve been busy chasing down my people. I’m afraid you won’t find me so easy to deal with… But lucky for you I’m not here to fight you.” Lowering his arms, he pointed to himself and said, “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Brawley, an alpha wolf of the local pack here.”

Lance frowned. A friendly wolf? The last one he had crossed paths with had attacked without hesitation. He assumed they were all violent thoughtless beasts. “I would’ve thought you’d have attacked me by now. “

“We’re not violent, Lance. Don’t look surprised. I know you. The Wolf-Slayer… You killed one wolf, yet people are quick to praise a man for one minor achievement.”

Lance kept his blade pointed at the man. “Why are you here?”

Brawley paced back and forth. “Because it’s the only way I’d get to see you up close and personal. If I sent you a letter, you’d no doubt be suspicious and come with a small force. I should kill you for taking one of my wolves. But killing you would sentence my pack to a cruel fate. Your title protects you.”

“Nothing forbids me from killing you.”

The man chuckled. “You could try, but you’ll fail. The wolf you killed. Just a juvenile. Only survived his first full moon the previous day. I’m far more experienced, but you are welcome to try.” He held his arms out and ushered Lance forward to tempt him.

“So, you wanted to see me. Why?”

Brawley closed the distance between them. “I need to see for myself.”

“See what?” Lance kept his blade pointed at Brawley.

Unphased, Brawley took another step forward, and reached out for the blade. Lance swung, but the man grabbed the weapon, and tightened his grasp around the silver until the sharp edges pierced his flesh. Blood seeped through his fingers. He pulled his arm back then opened his palm, revealing a deep cut. Within moments, the cut repaired itself.

Lance lowered the blade. “…What are you…”

Brawley grabbed Lance’s arm and slapped the sword out of his hand. Lance tried to make a lunge for it, but Brawley pulled him back, fingers digging into his arm. Pain shot up through his arm. The man could easily tear his arm off, but he wasn’t interested. Instead, he brought his face close to Lance’s arm and… sniffed. “…So, it’s true then…” He loosened his grip.

Lance pulled his arm back then picked up his sword once more. “What is true?”

“Do you know how we came to be? The pack founder fell in love with a woman, then betrayed her. She cursed him and the men in his tribe under the light of a full moon. Every full moon they’d turn into the mightyena that prowl the forest, and it would be painful to reflect the suffering she felt.” Brawley circled Lance, an amused grin on his face. “Fathers inflicted with the curse pass it onto their sons.”

“I’ve heard the stories, and I don’t see the point.”

“You’ve seen it, haven’t you? The five-pointed star.”

“Necromancy.”

The wolf nodded. “Yes. The necromancers exist.”

“Why should I believe a wolf?”

“Magic flows through our veins. I know magic when I see it. I can smell it. Sense it.” The man tilted his head towards him. “And I can sense it on you.”

Lance raised an eyebrow then gave a sardonic laugh. “I’m not a mage.”

“No, you’re not. But there is magic on you. A curse. Dark magic.”

“You’re lying,” Lance replied. “My grandfather would never allow magic to be used near me… Nor would he allow magic to be used within the kingdom’s walls. He’d rather die than allow that to happen.” Although he tried to keep his voice steady, he couldn’t conceal the edge in his tone. Edward didn’t like talking about the past. He didn’t like talking about magic either. “And you’re changing the topic. Why have you come to this town? These people need this lake to fish. Your presence frightens them.”

“I do not harm the local villagers. They are free to fish if they please, but they are under the impression that all wolves are violent murderous beings… I wonder why that could be? Your grandfather has spread vicious lies about our kind.”

Lance shook his head. “No. You wolves are a threat to our people… You’re unnatural.”

Brawley threw his head back and laughed. “Unnatural? That’s a new one. But now you’re the one changing the topic. Why do you seek to eliminate the wolves? We have done no harm to you or your people. Is it right to kill the innocent for the crime of existing? Do you think there is any honour to be found in killing us?

“Innocent?” Lance repeated, eyebrows raised. “If I was anyone else you would’ve killed me.”

The man chuckled. “And yet the villagers of the neighbouring town live. Not a single death. You’re wrong about me. But I suppose your grandfather has told you many lies about our kind, yet he is not a wolf.”

“Is this why you wanted me here? To smell my arm and defend your kind?”

With a shake of his head, Brawley added, “You may not believe me, but I do mean you no harm, Lance. If I wanted you harmed, I would’ve done so already. Something is amiss – the necromancers are back, and someone has placed a curse on you. The people you trust the most are often the ones most dangerous.”

Lance frowned, puzzled. That was clearly about his grandfather. “The king is a good man.”

“A man who stands idly by whilst the innocent die.”

His jaw tightened. Edward was a man of honour. Through clenched teeth, Lance said, “He is protecting the kingdom from danger. He knows sacrifices have to be made in order to keep the people safe by whatever means necessary.”

“Is that what you believe?” Brawley scoffed. “You’re a typical soldier, aren’t you? You’re obedient. You don’t question the orders; you follow them with a false belief you are doing the right thing even if you don’t understand why.”

Confused, he fell silent, reflecting on Brawley’s words. What did he mean by his people weren’t the enemy? That didn’t make sense unless he was implying the people of Blackthorn were the villains here and they were just the innocent victims in this war. But that couldn’t be right. His grandfather wouldn’t order him to attack the innocent if he didn’t have a justifiable reason why.

Brawley was just trying to manipulate him. That’s all it was. He wanted to plant seeds of doubt in his mind. To lower his guard and make him vulnerable. To appear weak. A weak prince was of no use to anyone. “My grandfather would not hurt me. I can trust him. But I can’t trust you.”

The man sighed. “I can see I am wasting words on you, but if you ever want to talk to me again, just come to the forest and I’ll find you.”

“What makes you think I’d seek you out again?”

The wolf feigned disappointment. “Because I can help with the necromancers. We are creatures of magic and we are resistant to it as well.”

Lance’s thoughts shifted to Yellow. He had been resistant to her magic too, but he assumed that had just been a side effect of the potions Samuel had been giving him that had somehow protected him from magic. “For all I know you could be in league with him, but I will let you walk. If I receive any reports of dead villagers, I will be back with an army.”

The man nodded. “We don’t break oaths, Lance. We are not a dishonourable race. You have my word your people will not be attacked.”

Lance put his sword away and retreated to the cave entrance. Any other man in his position would’ve attacked the wolf – his grandfather certainly would’ve asked for the creature’s head – it was the right course of action to take. But the wolf knew about the necromancer threat, and he knew there was something unusual about him. Yellow had noticed as well. A curse placed upon him of some nature. If he wanted to learn more, Brawley had to live. For now.

He retreated from the cave and made his way back to the town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments much appreciated :D


	9. Unexplained Happenings

Morty’s room was nothing special. A clothing rack and two beds with no pillows and a single thin white sheet. He supposed it was supposed to make the soldiers tougher. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he darted a glance at his companion. Falkner was still asleep. That meant he had some time to himself to explore the barracks. Most of the soldiers were at work now.

He stood up and walked over to the clothing rack. All soldiers were expected to wear chainmail, but Morty found such armour restrictive and too cumbersome. He preferred light armour and he was pleased to see there was leather armour available. Later today, he’d ask Falkner for the location on the baths. It had been awhile since he last had the chance, and nothing was more satisfying after a long hard day of work than a cold bath to ease the muscles. After changing into his leather hide armour, he carefully placed his sleepwear made of animal hide on the bed.

He slowly crept over to the door making sure his footsteps did not disturb. Judging by the total silence, he assumed the other soldiers were also fast asleep. Perfect. He left the room thankful there was no door to worry about. There was no privacy within the barracks, but the soldiers spent little time inside the actual building. The interior of the barracks was for eating and sleeping.

The building had a damp smell to it, and he assumed it was probably because hardly any air entered the building due to the limited numbers in windows and their lack of size. No wonder people spent little time in here. It seemed more like a prison. He walked down the corridor and followed the steps leading down to the bottom floor. Currently, he was on the third.

“…Filthy soldiers… Can’t ever clean up after themselves…”

As he walked down the stairs, he heard the voice of a female. He recognized it as Sabrina, the girl who claimed to have visions of bad things to come. She was one of the servants and it seemed her primary area of duty was the barracks. Unlucky girl. He found her on the floor scrubbing away at some food marks.

“You should be careful. Scrub any harder and you might begin to bleed.”

Sabrina glanced up, startled. “…Oh gods, I didn’t know you were awake.” She scrubbed at the floor again with her cloth then dunked it into the soapy bucket of water.

Her dress was white with a red ribbon around the waist but stained with dirt marks. He even saw multiple tears in her dress, and he wondered how much she was getting paid. It can’t have been much considering the state of her attire.

Without looking at his face, she said, “The food won’t be ready for another hour. We have to wait for the bakers to finish then we have to bring the food over here and prepare the tables for the soldiers.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh. You must be one of the new recruits then. It happens with them all.”

“What? They all have sleeping issues?”

“It’s a different life and it’s hard to adjust,” Sabrina explained, climbing to her feet. Her saw purplish bruises on her knees. “You’re giving up your old life for a new one. A life you think will be better, but it’s really no different that of a slave.”

He folded his arms, amused. “You speak freely for a slave. Those are some strong assumptions.” And she spoke well too. Must’ve come from an educated background.

“Soldiers train during the daylight hours repeating the same drills every day. Whilst the soldiers are training, the slaves are repeating the same tasks every day. We both serve a higher power and must do as told or face the consequences of our masters.” She kept her eyes focused on the ground, as if afraid to look him directly.

“I heard you yesterday. You said something about visions.”

“You heard nothing.”

He drew in a deep breath. “You do not have to be afraid of me. I am not like the others. I want to know what you saw.”

She did not lift her gaze, preferring to speak to the ground instead. Perhaps the bruises on her knees had come from other means. At first, he assumed she had received them from scrubbing floors, but it wasn’t unheard of for slave masters to beat their servants. Maybe that was why she was so afraid to look at him.

“I was just dreaming. Nothing more. Please. I must return to my work.” She continued to scrub the floor.

He wasn’t going to give up. To earn the trust of the locals and succeed in his task, he had to appear a friend. “You’re a servant girl. What harm could there possibly be in telling me what you saw? I’m not going to tell anyone else if that is what you are afraid of. I just joined up - who would believe me anyway? Please, look at me. I’m not going to hurt you like others have.”

Now she looked up. Her dark eyes were wide, but he could see sadness and fear in them. What sort of horrors had this girl endured in her life? “The others laugh at me. They think I’m infected in the head. I see things when I close my eyes at night. Horrible things. And they become true. I was sent away from my village at a young age because the townsfolk feared me. They thought I brought death.”

He dropped down to his knees so he could be at equal height to her. “You’re an oracle, aren’t you? You are one of the gifted people on this earth that can see glimpses of the future. It’s not a curse; it’s a blessing. A gift. You should never be ashamed of the powers you have.” People feared what they did not understand.

“An oracle? No, I can’t be. They’re just dreams.”

The poor girl didn’t even know what she was nor what great power she had. He figured it was best not to frighten her further. “If it is just a dream then there’s no harm in telling me what you saw.”

She seemed hesitant at first, avoiding his gaze. But she found the courage to speak. “Darkness. It’s always the same dream. There’s a battlefield. Fallen soldiers lay stretched across the bloody grass and there’s a man walking through them, his face concealed by a black hood. He walks with a limp, as if crippled, but it doesn’t deter him. He bends over next to one of the corpses and presses a hand against the forehead. He says some words, but I can’t make them out. The corpse rises to its feet. Ravens circle high above.” She drew in a deep breath and exhaled, clearly disturbed by the visions. “It has to be death omen. The black clothing. The ravens. The blood.”

 _Fascinating_ , he thought. The girl saw a glimpse of the future of Blackthorn. Death everywhere. The man was supposedly the founding father of necromancy. “That is a pretty vivid vision you have… But it could mean anything.”

“It’s a sign of bad things to come. They always mean something bad. I used to warn people, but they never believed me until it was too late. They would blame me as if I had caused it.” She cast her eyes downwards.

So, the girl had been forced out of her home by the people who feared her magic. After the war, mages had been forced to flee. Those who had survived sought refuge in Ecruteak City. At least, what had remained of the city. Overtime, they rebuilt the place except for one of the towers. From here, the necromancer cult had been reborn under the leadership of Naoko and N. The goal was simple – rise from the ashes and retake the world that was taken from them.

She looked up at him once more. “You do not fear magic.”

“I don’t have a reason to.”

She frowned. “But magic is bad. The soldiers believe it to be. The king speaks of magic as if it was a sickness. Anyone caught practicing magic is sent away. I don’t want to be found out… I don’t even want these visions. I’m safe here.”

Such was the way of the city folk. They had been taught magic was bad. He pitied the girl. If only she had been found by his people, then she’d have an entirely different perspective on magic and her powers would be put to good use. At least his people would welcome her and make her feel appreciated. “…If only things could be different…” he murmured. He knew one thing for certain – this girl had to be watched. An oracle who didn’t learn to manage their visions would slowly descend into madness.

“What do you mean?”

“…If magic was appreciated for the good it could do then you wouldn’t have to hide.”

“…I want them to stop.”

“You can’t. They’re a part of who you are. Embrace it. Don’t fear it. But don’t tell the others here what you are. Not that they would believe you anyway. But you can trust me.” He wished he could help her, but that would only draw suspicion to himself. “I have to leave you be, but if you have any more visions, you should tell me.” The other soldiers would probably be waking up soon and he didn’t want to waste any more of this girl’s time. He climbed to his feet just as he heard footsteps making their way down.

“…Morty.” Falkner’s voice.

Morty turned around. “Did you sleep well?”

“I thought you’d still be resting.”

“I wasn’t exactly overworked.”

He snorted. “Right,” he said, then turned his attention on the slave girl. “I hope he wasn’t bothering you. He’s new.” Turning to Morty, he said, “We’re not supposed to interact with the slaves. Besides. I don’t know why you’d even want to. They’re just slaves. Are there are slaves in your hometown?”

Morty raised an eyebrow but didn’t reply. Either Falkner just didn’t like slaves, or it was a general shared feeling among the city folk to look down on slaves. “I suppose you could say we do… We just don’t use the same word. We call them the Scarred. They bore an ‘x’ on their foreheads.” These people were unfit to join the Order of Ash. People who had failed the tests. They had their tongues removed and they were forced to wear it around their necks to bring further shame. “They perform similar tasks to your people.”

“So, you must understand interacting with slaves is frowned upon.”

Morty nodded. He didn’t see the point in explaining their slaves could not speak. They were simply there to be made examples of and do the menial tasks. “Understood.”

Sabrina scampered away to continue with her tasks elsewhere.

Shifting his attention back to Falkner, Morty said, “What is the task of the day anyway?”

“Eager to begin already?”

Morty nodded. “Better than sitting here doing nothing of interest. I’m eager to prove my worth.”

“This was the task I was supposed to do earlier until you arrived, but we are to scout the local forest and head to an abandoned shrine located near a small lake. Chuck says some people were found murdered not too far away and he wants us to investigate.”

He wondered if it was the same people that he had killed several days earlier, or victims belonging to the wolves. _And here I thought I had hidden the bodies well enough,_ Morty thought. “Right. Sounds easy enough.”

“You’ll need a sword. We still stop by the blacksmith before we leave. This sword will be yours, but it must be returned at the end of each day before the sun sets and picked up again the next morning. This is just for safety reasons.” Falkner turned his back and headed towards one of the tables then sat down.

Morty joined him sitting down opposite. This was a new experience. He wasn’t used to people bringing him food to eat. With the cultists, they had to hunt for their food and prepare it themselves. Falkner didn’t realize how fortunate he was. It was like being part of the royal family. The man wouldn’t survive a day out in the wild.

“There are quite a few slaves in this city,” Morty commented.

Falkner nodded. “Indeed. They keep this city alive.”

“Shouldn’t they be treated with better respect then if they do all the dirty work?”

“They’re slaves, Morty. This life is better than the ones we found them in. They should be thanking us.”

“So, this is a reward?” A slave girl he didn’t recognize entered the room carrying two ceramic bowls. He sniffed the air. Rabbit stew. That was something he was familiar with.

The girl laid down the bowls on the table then took her leave to repeat the cycle for the other soldiers slowly filling the hall.

“Yes.” Falkner picked up his spoon and placed it in the soup. “We keep the slaves safe within our walls and in exchange for our protection they do the menial tasks. It’s a fair trade.”

Morty helped himself to his own rabbit stew. The meat was quite tender. The people here had the advantage of having a proper kitchen unlike his own people. They simply cooked their food in a pot over a fire, and they didn’t have the luxury of spoons and knives. He picked up the spoon and looked at it. “Such strange things.”

“You’ve never seen a spoon before?”

“We don’t use them where I am from… We don’t have the luxury. I’m a mercenary. That’s what people from my hometown become. Sell swords. And that means we’re constantly on the move and we don’t have a permanent home base like your people do,” Morty explained. “It keeps things interesting. We’re always constantly doing something. What about you? Have you ventured far from the castle before? Done anything exciting?”

Falkner shook his head. “No. I’m usually stationed here at the castle as a guard. It’s been awhile since I’ve ventured outside the castle walls.”

“Oh, how boring.”

The man straightened his posture and pouted. “It’s an important role.”

“Right. But you must feel a little underwhelmed… perhaps even jealous of the people who actually get to leave often and experience the sights and wonders this world has to offer.” That would explain the man’s uptight negative attitude. His life was dull. He was probably seen as incompetent and that is why he was stationed here at the castle. Morty’s recruitment had changed that as he had a proven background in surviving the wilderness. “But that’s okay. I’m here now. I’ll show you the way,” he said with a grin.

Falkner snorted. “I can handle myself.”

“…According to the superiors here, you can’t, and that is why you are just a guard.”

A muscle jerked in Falkner’s jaw. Clearly, he had touched a nerve. “I’ve been on a scouting mission before. They’re simple. We just head to the destination and get as much information as we can then we return home to report our findings.”

Morty wondered if Falkner had ever used a sword outside of training before. Hitting dummies was quite a different experience from delivering a killing blow. He wasn’t going to ask as the man was already on edge. If they were to find themselves in conflict, Falkner’s experience would show. He just hoped they didn’t cross paths with any members of the Order of Ash. Older members.

“Do we know anything about these murders?”

With a shake of his head, Falkner said, “No. That is for us to find out.”

“Great.” Silence fell. Morty continued eating his soup. If Naoko or her sisters had gotten involved, they would leave a mark behind – a cat’s eye. He finished his soup then looked at Falkner’s bowl. He hadn’t eaten half. Perhaps he wasn’t in the mood to eat. “We’re going to find something, and you’ll prove to your superiors you are capable of being a scout.”

“You seem awfully convinced.”

“I had my superiors too. I know what it feels like to be looked down upon when you know you are capable of so much more.”

“Aren’t you a sell sword?”

“…Before I became one. I was taught how to fight too. My superiors were quite… selective of their students. You were punished harshly too if you failed them. But we need to focus on getting you to eat. We could be out there for hours and if you faint on me because of hunger, then you’ll never be a hero to your people.”

Falkner poked at a chunk of meat with his spoon then looked up. “Why do you even care what happens?”

“Because we’re partners and we’re not going to achieve anything if we can’t work together.” He needed Falkner to cooperate. Falkner was his main lead in learning more about this city and if he failed to perform it was likely the man would be forced to stay on guard patrol duties instead of exploration. How was he ever going to meet up with Naoko to report if he wasn’t even allowed out of the city?

Falkner sighed. “It’s no secret that I don’t trust you. We’ve only just met. I don’t know if you have some ulterior motive here or if you honestly want to do some good. But I won’t dishonour myself and give up so easily.” He stabbed his fork at a piece of meat and brought it to his mouth. He consumed the bite and repeated the motion until his bowl was empty. “Come. Let us visit the blacksmith so you can select your weapon of choice.” He stood up from the table.

Morty followed, eager to begin. No more words were needed to be said as he followed Falkner out of the barracks. He hadn’t been away from the wilderness for long, but he already missed the freedom. There were no rules outside the walls. “Very well. Let the fun and games commence.”

* * *

Silver winced as pain shot down through his arm temporarily paralysing him. For several days he had worked hard on menial labour carrying large stones and carving them into symbols of the king’s seal, the dragon head. The stone weighed a little less than half the average body weight of a healthy grown man. It was difficult work, but as a slave he was not allowed to take breaks and rejuvenate. The rays of the sun burned into his back turning the skin a dangerous shade of red. If the work didn’t kill him the heat would.

His thoughts were interrupted by the protests of another slave. His name was Alan, a young male with brown hair and matching eyes. The large sandstone fell out of his hands and onto the ground.

The guards rushed over to him and forced him to his feet. “Get back to work!” The first of the guards spat aiming a well-placed kick at Alan’s left ribcage.

Alan whimpered and struggled to stand. His knees wobbled, and he fell to the ground again. His weary body could not be supported by his equally tired legs. One of the guards brought out a whip and lashed the weapon at his bare back. Alan’s face contorted with pain. “Please... have mercy...” he said. He arched his neck backwards and stared up at the darkened sky, as if expecting a response from the false gods. The people here believed in Arceus, the so-called God of Creation, but Silver didn’t believe in gods.

“Arceus does not listen to filth,” the guard said, a wicked sneer on his cruel features. Alan wiped away a tear from his eye and once again forced himself up from the ground. “Pick up the stone and continue your job, slave.” The guard pointed to the stone Alan had dropped.

Alan nodded and limped to the stone. He bent over and wrapped his arms around the stone and tried to pick it up, but his physical strength had left him. He collapsed against the surface of the stone.

Silver turned away unable to watch another slave suffer. The pain was unbearable, even more so than receiving the hooked claws at the end of the whip. This was the life of the unfortunate slaves purchased by cruel masters. Many slaves in his situation ended up in the Slave Pits where they would fight to the death for money. He thought about Lyra, the girl he had at the auction. She had ended up in the castle and she’d never understood the plight of the slaves. How he disliked her even more despite knowing little about her.

“Get your hands off me!”

Silver’s eyes snapped open and he jerked his head behind him. His eyes were drawn to an aging man he knew as Blaine, the grand slave master of Blackthorn. The only slaves he had no authority over were the ones who lived in the castle as they were under the supervision of the king and his royal subjects. Unfortunately, Silver was one of Blaine’s slaves and the man had a temper that was quick as to ignite as a flame.

The man was holding a girl with long brown hair close to him, chuckling with delight as she tried to free herself from his iron grasp. Blaine slapped her in the face. She hissed at him but spoke no further. Satisfied, Blaine helped the girl to her feet then glanced in Silver’s direction. “You boy. Come over here.”

Silver walked over ashamed of himself. He was just a loyal dog here within these grounds unable to think or act for himself. He had to do as asked or there’d be punishment and he didn’t want to have an iron rod pressed against his back again. “Yes master?”

“You’re going to show this girl what happens around here.” He pushed the girl into Silver’s arms then walked away to examine the condition of Alan.

Silver looked at the girl and took note of her black left eye. Clearly, she had tried to put up a fight, but had ultimately failed. She didn’t look much older than himself – probably in her early adult or late teenage years – but age didn’t matter here. After a few long hot months, she’d lose her youthful looks and her soul in the process. That’s what happened to the unfortunate slaves. They lost their identity overtime. They weren’t even given names, but Silver vowed to never forget his own name.

Her hair was long, reaching down her backside, stopping just short at the tail end of her spine. Her hair was a light shade of timber and her eyes a golden brown, but he saw fierceness in them that showed her spirit hadn’t yet been broken. Many slaves lost their wills the moment they were sold into slavery. He was glad to see she wasn’t one of them. Not yet anyway, but how long would she hold out for?

“What’s your name girl?” he said.

“Jasmine,” she replied softly.

“Where are you from?”

“Olivine.”

Ah, Olivine. His father had mentioned the city before. It was near the port and apparently overrun with pirates. It was believed there were chests of gold in the lighthouse, but the presence of the pirates dissuaded adventures from travelling there. “Are you a pirate?” Or at least the daughter of one. It wouldn’t be uncommon for pirates to sell off their daughters into prostitution or slavery for gold in exchange.

She shook her head. “No. I am the daughter of Archibald, captain of the seas.”

He hadn’t heard the name before, but then again, he didn’t pay much attention to legendary explorers or heroes. They didn’t concern him. “And how did someone like you end up in a place like this?” He walked over to one of the rocks.

“The pirates raided the city and pillaged every home they came across. Women and children were murdered in their sleep and the men became decorations on pikes. I was hiding behind a door at the top floor of the lighthouse, but they still came anyway and broke the door down.” A visible shudder raced down her spine. “I remember it clearly you know. These burly men caked in blood. The maddened frenzied look in their black eyes. I was taken against my will and bound in rope.”

She stopped short of finishing her tale, but he didn’t have to hear what happened next. He had heard a similar tale from many other slaves. Parents murdered. Towns raided. Young people sold into slavery and the elderly killed. Such was the life of the unfortunate and the unlucky. He didn’t ask further questions and instead looked down at the stone before him. “We have to load these stones onto the oxen and lead them back to the storehouse.” He bent his knees the hunched over to pick up the stone. The oxen were standing in a row by a hitching post.

“Where did you come from?”

“Viridian Forest.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” As with many women, his mother had died during childbirth. His father Giovanni was stricken with grief then blamed her death on Silver’s existence. He was sold into slavery afterwards for gold. He desired nothing more than finding the man responsible for ruining his life. “We’re not going to be here forever.” He picked up the stone and waddled over to the ox then placed the heavy slab of stone in the cart.

“Your father sounds like a terrible man,” Jasmine said, picking up a smaller rock besides him.

Silver snorted. “Yeah. He’s a rogue-like character.”

“Do you know if he’s alive still?”

He nods. “Of course. He’s the leader of the bandits.” After his wife had fallen sick, Giovanni turned his grief into anger and started his own faction of rebels who refuse to live by the laws of the kings and queens. “I will find him, and I will make him suffer as I have.” The man was obviously still in the area. He just had to break free of his chains here and track the man down. There was only one question he had to ask – why?

“You wish to escape?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why would you want to stay?”

“How are you going to escape? This place is overrun with guards.”

Good question, but he had an idea. It was only in the early stages, but it had something to do with causing a slave revolt. Convincing the other slaves to pick up swords against their masters would not be so easy – he would have to earn their respect and the only way to do that was to fight in the Slave Pits. “I’ve got an idea. It’s going to take some time, but I am going to make it work. I must. Corruption seeps through this city like a plague and it will spread. I’m not going to be consumed by it.”

She bowed her head. An odd gesture. “I hope it works out well for you.”

She didn’t seem keen to leave or perhaps she was still growing accustomed to her new life as a slave. Perhaps the recent events with the pirates had shaken her to a point she found it safer here. She’d change her mind soon. No one could ever find happiness here. He decided not to pursue the subject further and focused on the job ahead of loading rocks onto oxen. Jasmine didn’t ask further questions of which he was grateful for. He didn’t hold anything against the girl, but he had no reason to speak further.

* * *

The incident down at the Lake of Rage had proven to be much easier to resolve than he had assumed. All it had involved was a few words exchanged and Brawley had agreed to leave on peaceful terms. Or so the man had claimed. Only time would tell if the wolf held up his end of the bargain. But he was relieved. He wasn’t the type of soldier who enjoyed the blood and chaos of war, preferring to solve conflict with diplomacy.

He had returned to the local town and was now in one of the spare rooms of the mayor’s office. Pryce was preparing a meal in the kitchen. Lance walked over to a window and peered outside up at the sky, noticing the full moon. Tonight, the wolves would be on the prowl. He wondered if they retained their human senses whilst in wolf form and if they remembered any of it the following morning.

He didn’t even have to look at the sky to know it would be a full moon night. The headaches and muscle pains were enough warning. It was an odd sickness. Sometimes he’d experience throbbing headaches, other times he’d feel stiffness in his joints. On some rare occasions he’d even break out into a sweat and be overcome with odd dreams.

Even now he felt the familiar pain in his forehead. He lay down on the bed and looked up at the ceiling, drawing in deep breaths, struggling to find an answer. No one else seemed to complain about moon sickness. It seemed to be a condition unique to himself. He sat upright again and reached out for the potions besides the bed. They helped him relax. The pain would be lessened to tolerable levels so he could function without issue.

Pryce entered the room carrying a plate. He put it down on the bed. “Still having the same problems?” he said, taking note of the potion satchels.

Lance consumed the contents of one satchel then put it back down. “Nothing I can’t deal with.” Not many people knew about his issue. Pryce was one of the rare few having witnessed him during one of his more intense episodes. Fortunately, the man had kept the knowledge to himself. If other people knew they’d start to ask questions and question his fitness to lead.

“You’re the only person I know who has such extreme reactions to a full moon,” Pryce said.

Lance sighed. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” He looked down at the plate. Two fillets of salmon, a couple of potatoes and some carrots from the local garden. He didn’t feel hungry, but it would be rude not to eat. He picked up the fork and picked up a carrot. “I don’t know why it happens. Grandfather says I’m sensitive to these sorts of things.”

“…What did you say your symptoms were again?”

“…Does it matter?”

“Out of curiosity.”

“It changes every month. Sometimes they’re headaches of the throbbing sort. Other times I feel sore all over as if I’m been pushing myself to breaking point for hours. Then there are the cold sweats, the dreams and a ravenous hunger for meat,” Lance explained, picking up the plate and holding it near his chest. “And it only happens on a full moon.”

Pryce frowned. “Like someone afflicted by a curse.”

Raising an eyebrow, Lance lowered the plate to his lap and looked at Pryce. “What do you know about curses?”

“I’ve seen a lot of people come through the town, Lance, and I’ve seen a lot of strange things. Several months ago Agatha visited.”

“Agatha?” That was a name he was familiar with. An elderly woman his grandfather distrusted. She disguised herself as a travelling merchant, but she was supposedly an expert with healing medicines. His grandfather claimed she worked with dark magic to perform miracles. It was said she could cure almost any disease or illness, but it often came at a great sacrifice. “That old hag?” How had the woman even survived this long? And why hadn’t anyone tried to stop her? Perhaps his grandfather didn’t know the woman was still alive.

Pryce nodded. “She’s an old friend of Samuel’s.”

“He has never mentioned her before.”

Pryce lifted a brow. “Dangerous to mention Agatha’s name in a kingdom of people who distrust any form of magic. Where do you think Samuel learned his potions knowledge from? If you want to know more about this sickness, then you should seek her out.”

“Grandfather had her banished for a reason. The last patient under Agatha’s care lost their mind, Pryce. Her ‘magic’ had caused him great pain and suffering, and he had to be killed to protect his own family. All this talk of her miraculous healing ability is just dark magic at work. Do not be fooled. Mages can’t be trusted.”

“Do you not want to know why you suffer? What if you had a chance to make this pain go away permanently?”

He thought of Yellow and Brawley. Both had mentioned he was cursed. When Pryce seemed to think so. But even so, Agatha could not be trusted. “…Have you listened to a word I’ve said? She is dangerous.”

The old man raked a hand through his hair. “She would have answers to the questions you seek.”

“And speaking to her behind my grandfather would be betraying the oath I swore upon which was to not seek the aid of magic regardless of the situation.” He then frowned. “She means something to you, doesn’t she? Why else would you come to her defence?”

“She’s a healer.”

“Then explain how a healer allowed a patient to become violent?” Pryce didn’t answer. _As much as he thought,_ Lance concluded. Pryce didn’t answer because he didn’t have one to explain the sudden shift in personality. But Lance had one. All the potions the woman had given the patient had corrupted his mind. “Trusting magic makes you an enemy of the king. You don’t want to be caught on the wrong side.”

“Then you prefer to suffer for the remainder of your life?”

“I manage, Pryce.”

“Samuel won’t live forever.”

“Then we’ll find a replacement.”

“You know potions lose effectiveness over time.”

Lance fell silent. Pryce was right. The body would eventually become accustomed to the potions. That’s why Samuel had given Lance a stronger dosage to help manage better. Pushing the plate aside, he stood up from the bed. “The wolf I met… He said I was cursed.”

“And you believe him?”

“You said it yourself. Maybe I am afflicted by a curse. No one else seems to suffer from this moon sickness.” The term even sounded ridiculous. “Have any doctors in the past even written about this?” Family members will lie to keep their secrets safe. That’s what Brawley had said.

“I’ve not heard of the term before.” The man climbed to his feet. “You shouldn’t believe what a wolf has to say, Lance. They are a threat to our people. It is most likely you have inherited something from your father. Speaking of the wolf, did you kill him?”

Lance shook his head. “No. He had no interest in killing the villagers. He only wanted to draw my attention. There’s nothing to be concerned about. The problem has been dealt with, and he won’t be back.”

“I trust you are correct.”

“He knows if he or his wolves lay a hand on any villager, I will send an army after them.” Lance also climbed to his feet and peered out the window once more. “Something is amiss, Pryce. Why would a wolf put himself at risk trying to draw my attention? Aren’t animals the first to sense danger?”

“You still believe in this necromancer theory.”

Lance kept his gaze fixated on the full moon. Ignoring Pryce’s comment, he said, “The task here is done. I will be returning to the castle to report to my grandfather.” There was no reason to discuss the topic of necromancy with a man who didn’t believe and talking about his illness only troubled him more. He had many questions forming in his mind. Was he actually cursed? If yes, then why and by whom? Why would his grandfather allow it? And lastly, why had Samuel kept his relationship with Agatha a secret from him?

“Safe travels to you then, Lance. I hope you find the answers you seek.”

Lance nodded then retreated without saying another word.

* * *

As usual, the tavern was as lively as ever. People from all different social backgrounds had come together under one roof to indulge in a few rounds of alcohol. The tavern was a place people could put aside their worries for a few hours and relax before they had to face reality again. Gary was currently on a lunch break, but he was eager to return to work, not entirely comfortable with leaving responsibility to the new bartender. The boy was called Tracey; he was enthusiastic and friendly enough, but he still had much to learn.

Before he could return to the counter and check up on Tracey, he was stopped by Bugsy, a young eccentric man with an odd obsession with bugs and spiders. He was dressed in shorts and a sleeveless white shirt with a few suspicious brown patches on it. Had the boy been sleeping in the wild again? The boy approached him.

“What do you want Bugsy?” Gary said.

Busy peered up at him. “I know where the sceptre is. My friends found it. The signs were all there. I’ve been studying the ants for several weeks now and they have all been drawn to this one path. So, I followed it and guess what I found?”

Gary looked around making sure no one was close enough to hear their words. This was not a conversation he needed others to be aware of. Although no one was within hearing range, he did see a few commoners glancing in his direction. They were probably wondering why Bugsy, commonly known as the village idiot, was communicating with him. “I’m working.”

He tried to walk around Bugsy, but the boy stepped in front of him again. “I found a secret opening into a crypt just a little north to the farmlands. It was hidden behind some long blades of grass near some boulders at the base of the mountains.” Bugsy grabbed his arm. “You have to see it for yourself.”

Gary pulled his arm away. “I’m at work.”

“Then come as soon as the night falls.”

“And leave my tavern under the supervision of Tracey?”

Bugsy frowned. “But it’s important. Your ancestors-”

“There’s no proof of that.”

“Nathaniel Oak. You’re an Oak.”

That would make him a mage too by blood. Or so he assumed. Did the magical gene always pass onto the children? What if it skipped a generation? His grandfather certainly had never spoken of magic before. ‘Sometimes people have the same surname. Doesn’t mean we’re all related.”

“Your grandfather has a journal from Nathaniel Oak.”

“How do you even know that?” Gary raised a brow, confused. Not even he knew that.

“My friends can get into any place. They can see everything, and they return the information to me. You’re a direct descendant. This sceptre is yours to claim. Don’t you want to see the location where your ancestors buried it? It’s important. The notes say it had been forged with the blood of Nathaniel and an oracle and was used to create and break seals made with Oak blood.”

Gary didn’t respond. He was lost for words. Bugsy was a mage. A mage. Right here in the castle grounds! He could communicate with insects. And apparently he was very interested in his family history too. “Keep your voice down,” Gary hissed. “This city does not take kindly to suspicions of magic. You could get us both killed.”

“And if you claim this sceptre you won’t have a reason to be afraid.”

Gary tried to get around Bugsy again, but the boy was quick to stand in his path. “And what do you want me to do about it? Bring it home? If my family doesn’t have it then we weren’t meant to have it. Some things are best left untouched.” Several more people were looking at him. One man even rose to his feet. “You need to leave.”

“We need to retrieve it.”

“What?” Gary replied, disbelief in his tone. “Keep it here in the city? That is just asking for trouble to come here. We don’t need trouble.”

“But it belongs to you.”

Gary glowered. “And I don’t give a damn about some relic that belonged to my ancestor.”

“If you don’t come with me, I’ll start a bug infestation in this tavern.”

A muscle jerked in his jaw. The nerve of the young man. “You’re trying to threaten me?”

“That’s how important this sceptre is.”

“Why do you even care about it? What does it mean to you?”

There was silence, then, “I’ve seen things, Oak. Out beyond those walls. Bad things. This sceptre can help us fight them.”

“There is no us, Bugsy. I’m not doing anything. I work at a tavern.”

Bugsy grabbed his arm. “But you can be something greater.”

The man wasn’t going to stop harassing him. He could ask the guards to take the man away, but there was no telling what the guards would do. Bugsy might’ve been annoying, but he didn’t deserve to be beaten up for it or jailed. “All right. Fine. I’ll come with you. But only if you promise not to bother me again, okay? And don’t bring up the fact my ancestor was a mage. It doesn’t mean I am, and I don’t want to be one.”

Bugsy pulled back his hands. “All right. Promise.”

Raking a hand through his hair, Gary said, “I’ll meet you after dark at the front gate tomorrow night as soon as the sun is down. The guards will let me through if I tell them I’m looking for some ingredients in the forest.” All he had to do was pay the guards to look the other way and they would let him out after dark. They knew better than to refuse exit to Samuel Oak, one of the king’s advisors, grandson.

Bugsy smiled. “We’re going to retrieve the sceptre.”

“I certainly hope so because I don’t want to hear about it again. Now get out of here before people start wondering why I’m talking with you.” People were still looking. People always seemed so interested in knowing the business of other people. There was no respect for privacy here. Bugsy frowned, but didn’t argue. He said his farewells, turned around then walked away.

Gary walked back over to the counter. Fortunately, it seemed Tracey was handling himself well. Perhaps he had given the boy less credit than he deserved. He approached him. “Tracey. All goes well I presume?”

Startled, he jumped then spun around, almost heaving a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank goodness you’re back.”

“No trouble?”

He shook his head. “No, none. But I really need to use the loo.”

The toilets within the kingdom were small holes in the ground with a wooden plank on top which was used as a seat. People who held important positions were fortunate enough to have access to a garderobe which jutted outside the side of the castle keep. The gong farmer had to clean the mess. Gary pitied those poor fools. He would rather be dead than spend the rest of his life cleaning up the shit of the rich.

“That guy… What’s his name again? Bugsy? Why was he talking to you?”

Gary pretended to be confused. He was still reeling from the information about possibly being a mage himself. “I don’t know really. He’s simply weird. He’ll just come up to me and start talking, but he’s not a problem okay? He just talks to me because I’m one of the rare few people that will listen. I mean. I work at a tavern. I must listen to people. But I need to you look after the tavern tonight. I’ve got some things to do for my grandfather.”

Fortunately, Tracey didn’t seem to suspect anything was off. He just nodded. “Of course. Family first.”

Gary forced a smile. “Indeed. But I’ll be back tomorrow and working as per normal. But we should get back to work before the customers start asking questions. I’ll collect more hops.” He moved past Tracey towards the back entrance. He didn’t need more hops. It was just an excuse to get some fresh air to recollect his thoughts. Tonight, he’d venture well outside the walls of the castle into dangerous unfamiliar territory. He just hoped Bugsy knew what he was doing.

* * *

Clair was in no hurry to return to the castle to meet with her grandfather. He only had lectures for her about her future. Nothing else of interest. Instead of taking the quickest route back to the keep, she opted for the longest path which took her past the military quarters of the city. It wasn’t often she had a chance to venture out on her own, and if her grandfather had his way, she’d be married off to some boring prince soon.

The path she followed took her past the barracks and the blacksmith. As usual, there were soldiers patrolling the streets and she heard the shouts of men in training. She could hear the swords clashing with other blades and even the sounds of arrows being released. It only made her wish she could wield a sword, but women weren’t allowed to use weapons. According to her grandfather, the battlefield was no place for a woman.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t hold a weapon. She made her way towards the blacksmith pretending to smile at the passing peasants to give the impression she cared. Grandfather always said to smile even if you didn’t feel like smiling. “Have a blessed day,” Clair greeted, forcing a smile.

The peasants, two women, smiled back. “May Arceus bless you too, my lady.”

Clair watched them walk past then continued towards the blacksmith. Surge was the man regarded as the best blacksmith in the region. He was a former soldier and had served for almost a decade until he had broken a leg which forced him out. The man would normally be at the force, but he wasn’t present oddly. Instead, she saw two men standing outside. One she recognized as Falkner who was a low-ranking soldier Lance had trained once when Wallace had fallen ill. Falkner’s companion was a man she didn’t recognize. His hair was blond, and it fell around his shoulders in an uncombed mess.

“…Odd. Normally Surge is around and waiting.”

“…Can’t we just grab one of the rack?”

“…No Morty. We can’t do that. We have to sign our names off.”

“…But we’re wasting time. We’ve got a task to complete for the king. Who knows where Surge is?”

 _The royal signature would suffice,_ Clair thought. Surge would understand. If her grandfather had given a task, then it must be important. Clair walked over and approached the two men. Crossing her arms over her chest, she cleared her throat and introduced herself. “Greetings. Surge isn’t present now, but I can help you.”

They turned around. Falkner immediately bowed as a sign of respect. Morty, the blond, didn’t. She frowned. It seemed he didn’t know the basic rules of respect here in the kingdom. She straightened her shoulders. “Greetings, Your Royal Highness,” Falkner said.

“Ah, you must be Clair,” Morty said.

Clair lifted a brow. “That isn’t a way to address a princess.” She should be offended by his lack of manners, but she couldn’t help but find it amusing. Although it was flattering to be reminded constantly of her superior social standing, it meant people were quite rigid around her, intimidated. “You must be ready to depart on a quest then. What has my grandfather ordered you to do this time?”

“We’re to investigate the ruins just south of here,” Falkner explained.

“Oh, the Ruins of Old Blackthorn.”

“The Ruins of Old Blackthorn?” Morty repeated.

Clair nodded. “It was an old sacred site that belonged to the priests many centuries ago before the mages came along. All sort of weird things would there – animal sacrifice, song and dance festivals to Arceus… the things the ancient people did. Or that’s what the scholars say. I don’t know if you can read, but if you ever have the chance, you should visit the archives.”

Most of the soldiers could not read. Only the knights were formally educated in the castle. A soldier’s job was simply to fight, scout and patrol not to decipher old writing nor create their own words on paper. “That sounds interesting. I’ll be sure to visit the archives when I have a chance… Where can I find them?”

“At the castle of course. But you can’t just walk in there without a pass. You’re not a knight; you’re a common soldier and they’re not allowed to walk within the castle halls. You also need a royal seal to enter the Church. Maybe if you retrieve something ancient for me, I might grant you one,” Clair responded, arms folded across her chest.

“Like that amulet around your neck,” Morty said.

Clair glanced down. “Oh, you noticed?”

“Never seen anything like it. Looks old. Ancient even.”

She looked up. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? It’s fitting for me. The stall owner said it once belonged to the priests to ward off against evil spirits. Isn’t that fascinating? I could be holding a cursed object, but I don’t believe in spirits or the dead rising. I mean that’s nonsense, right?” She looked at the two men. Falkner just shrugged, but Morty frowned, almost as if troubled. Did he know something?

“…You’re right. It is beautiful. Very fitting for you, your royal highness.”

She smiled. “I don’t know where Surge is, but I can sign you both off. If anyone complains, tell them to come and speak to me directly. The only thing I ask for in return is that you find me something beautiful.”

Falkner bowed his head. “Thanks”

“You don’t need to thank me. You serve the crown, and it is your duty to serve. Now don’t waste my time. I have places to be. Pick a weapon and go.”

Falkner looked at Morty then gestured towards the weapons rack with the long swords. Morty shifted his attention to the rack on the right with the dual scimitars instead and selected them whilst Falkner picked up a standard long sword.

Once they were done, Clair walked over to the papers and signed their names off by adding her signature. “There. All done. Now get out of here.”

The soldiers didn’t need to be told twice. She watched them retreat feeling a pang of jealousy as they walked off. The boys were fortunate. They were able to leave the city and experience the wilderness. They had a taste of adventure whilst she was stuck in the kingdom. Her life would become even worse after marriage. Everything she owned would belong to her husband. Her grandfather would happily give her a lecture upon her return to the castle. Knowing her grandfather would be expecting her home, she continued walking ahead taking the path on the left towards the castle.


	10. Tensions Rising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, still no comments. Can't tell if people reading this enjoy the story or not. But I'll keep updating anyway since the story is complete. It ain't perfect, but I like how it turned out.

Clair awoke, stretching her hands above her head and yawned. Today was another new day and it would be no different from the ordinary. Karen had promised to take her down to the slave pits sometime, but she didn’t know when. It certainly would not be within the next couple of days as Prince Benga was supposedly arriving soon to take her hand in marriage.

She sat up from her bed made of a heavy wooden frame. She slept on springs made of interlaced ropes, overlaid with a feather mattress, sheets, quilts, fur coverlets, and pillows. It was curtained, with linen hangings that pulled back in the daytime and closed at night for privacy and protection from drafts. 

Opposite to her bed were large chests for garments and a stool sitting next to it. A small anteroom adjoined the chamber where the cloth, jewels, spices and plates were stored in other chests. It was also where dressmaking was done. There was no other place in the entire kingdom where she felt more at ease than her own master bedroom. Unfortunately, her freedom would be taken away with marriage and she’d have to share.

There was a knock on the door. “Clair?”

Edward. Her grandfather. Soon the lecture would start. Throwing her legs over the side of the bed, she stood up and walked over to her dressing room and grabbed herself her usual castle attire – a dark blue dress made of silk. Blue was said to be the colour of purity and was the preferred option for the woman. “I’m awake and getting dressed as we speak,” she answered, quickly changing out of her night attire into her casual day clothing.

Once she was done, she headed over to the door and opened it. “I am sorry to disturb you so early in the day, but we must talk about the future. Prince Benga is due to arrive tomorrow and this will allow you a chance to feel comfortable around him before the wedding the following day. He will stay here in the kingdom for a few days for rest before returning home to Unova with you as his bride.”

She folded her arms. Unova was miles away and across the ocean. She’d have to board a ship and she’d have nowhere to go. It would take at least two weeks to reach Unova’s shores and that would mean two weeks being stuck with Prince Benga and his crew. She’d rather become a commoner than endure that living hell. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

“You will be given a personal maid.”

“I already have maids.”

“This one is special, Chuck says. This girl came from a village.”

Clair rolled her eyes. “Oh, and that makes it better? You know what they say about village people. They’re less educated than the peasants within our kingdom. I don’t want a stupid slave.” Or did her grandfather think she was so useless she couldn’t look after herself?

“This girl was found with her mother in a place called New Bark Town. The boy Ethan – he’s from the same village and he has yet to disappoint. Joey has also come from the same village and he carries out his tasks well. You know what they all have in common?” He paused then continued. “They’re all educated. They can read. They can write. They’re far better skilled than most servants. I think she’ll be of great use to you, Clair.”

Clair could see she wasn’t going to win this debate either. First it was an arranged marriage and now she was being forced to have some servant following her around everywhere. “Fine. I’ll take the slave. It’s not like you’re giving me much of a choice.” Her grandfather was probably going to plan the entire wedding ceremony too. Maybe if she complained to Lance, he could convince grandfather to change his mind. The man seemed more likely to listen to Lance’s suggestions even if they were the same as Clair’s own.

He placed his hands on Clair’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. “I know you’re not happy with the decision, but it is for the best of our family, Clair. Unova is a strong kingdom with many reputable people. This marriage will strengthen our alliance.”

“So, you’re using me for political purposes? What? You think we’re going to get attacked?” That would make sense. Unova had a larger population than Johto-Kanto combined. It was no secret that many people tried to marry into powerful families for their own protection. Agatha’s words came back to her. Don’t trust your family. What did the woman know and how exactly did she know anyway? Had the old lady been trying to warn her? Maybe that’s why her grandfather was so intent on her marrying into another powerful family.

He removed his hands. “We are in no danger.”

“So why marry me off then? Why now? What’s changed?” she demanded.

He looked away towards the window avoiding meeting her gaze. “Nothing has.”

She scoffed. “You’re lying. Why not marry Lance off instead? You know the family name is carried through the male. It always has been. Why change that now?” She wanted to bring up what Agatha had said, but that would only make him tighten his grip on her freedom and that was already limited.

“Because he’s a knight and sworn to serve.”

“But he can’t be a knight forever. You know that.”

He looked at her again. “He swore an oath.”

“That oath only applies if he remains a knight. If he left the service, he’d be free to as pleased. It’s not like there’s a lack of suitable candidates for him. I’m sure there are plenty of royal princesses from other regions who would marry Lance and you know it.” She never failed to notice the looks the local women were giving her cousin. The same looks men gave her. It made her proud. “You’re trying to control our lives.”

“You know that he can’t,” Edward replied, his voice low.

“He’s the only one you fully trust to lead our army, is that it?”

He brought a hand to his forehead and sighed. “It’s more complex than that.”

“What? Because of his condition? I thought that was being managed by Samuel. Isn’t that why you kept the man around? Because he’s helping Lance deal with whatever ailment he has?” She frowned. She didn’t understand what the big problem was. It was almost as if Edward didn’t want Lance having children for whatever reason.

After a long pause, Edward said, “Yes. That is the reason. It’s too much of a risk.”

She studied his face. The man did not want to meet her eyes. “You’re afraid of what will happen. Why? Because you think he’ll pass this condition on?” She didn’t understand. Lance was managing his ailment. Most people didn’t even know he was sick.

“I would prefer our family name not to be tainted by illness. A weak king does not hold onto power for long,” Edward explained.

“And because of Lance you are sending me to Unova.” Typical. Lance could stay behind in the kingdom, and she had to be sent off all because women didn’t get a choice. Their fathers of grandfathers could do as they pleased. “I don’t want to go to Unova.”

“You’ll be allowed to return home to visit.”

“I’ve never been to Unova before, but I’ve heard the stories.” Stories Karen had shared. The woman seemed to know a lot about the world despite having never stepped outside Blackthorn. “It’s a bland dark city and everyone is so serious all the time…. And magic isn’t outlawed there. What if I become a target? Other kingdoms know our stance against magic. Assassins might try to kill me out of spite.” The stories said the Unova region was home to many thieves who made their homes in the shadows. “You know we have many enemies, grandfather.”

“And if they dare show their faces, we will strike them down,” he retorted, making a fist with his right hand. “We fought off the mages once before and we will do so again should they strike.”

Clair found it hard to argue with that, deciding to change the topic. “Very well. So, let me see this slave.”

“Come downstairs when you’re finished here. Lance will be present too.”

Right. Lance had been absent for the past few days. He was probably on some errand for their grandfather again. She missed him. He might have a dull personality, but he listened to her and understood her concerns over the forthcoming marriage. He was the only who listened. Despite living under the same roof, she didn’t see him often as he was always busy with duty. It would be so good to see him again.

Her grandfather exited the room. Clair watched him leave then sighed. She was in the final few days of her freedom. Karen had mentioned visiting the slave pits. She figured she’d accept the offer as she knew she wouldn’t have a chance again. But first, she had to meet this personal maid of hers.

* * *

“Well, here we are in Goldenrod City,” Eusine murmured, stopping before the golden archways and admiring the craft. Well-trimmed hedges surrounded the city and the only entrances were through a pair of archways. Several outposts overlooked the city occupied by two archers each. Small groups of five soldiers patrolled the busy muddy streets. They were easily identified by their red cloaks and horned helms.

Will turned his head around. “Busy as always. Can’t say I’ve really missed this place much. But there’s never a dull moment here, and I’ll be kept busy for quite a few months at the most.”

“Where’s Janine?”

“She’ll be in a golden temple. It’s the only one in the city so you certainly won’t have any trouble trying to find this place,” Will remarked, turning his gaze to the right. “I’ll be in the tavern as per usual. Perhaps I’ll learn of something useful that can help us in the future.” He flexed his arms then stifled a yawn.

“You’re not going to come?”

Will shook his head. “This isn’t my issue. I’ll be seeing you.” He took his leave before Eusine could protest.

Now the man was alone in a city he wasn’t familiar with. Ecruteak was a small city and quiet too. Goldenrod was busy and lively. He imagined this is what Blackthorn would look like only with a castle and a much larger number of soldiers. Ignoring the group of soldiers passing by, Eusine walked down the central path, keeping his eyes peeled for a golden temple.

He walked down a wide street, bypassing a group of children playing in the mud with sticks and stones. Their clothes were ragged and torn. Probably slaves enjoying a temporary break from work. He continued his journey, navigating his way through twisting turns, crossing paths with another group of soldiers.

“…Did you hear? Prince Benga is supposed to be arriving in Blackthorn.”

“…A Unovan noble? To marry the princess? He’ll be dead within a week.”

“…What do you mean?”

“…Don’t you feel it in the air? Something bad is going to happen?”

Laughter greeted his words. “You’ve been listening to those tales again, Pete.”

A cold breeze swept through the city. Eusine flinched. It was as if the wind itself was biting into his skin, and he scolded himself for not wearing something warmer. The farther north you went, the cooler it became because of the mountain range that stretched right across the northern half of the region.

Eusine waited for the men to pass by before continuing. He didn’t have a clue where he was going, but it wasn’t long before he spotted the unmissable golden temple. It towered over the buildings, seeming like the golden sun itself. Oddly, the place was not guarded. That made him cautious. What if it was a trap?

“Don’t be a coward,” Eusine murmured, approaching the door. Still no one. Not even the local soldiers seemed to care there was an assassin’s guild here in the middle of the city. Drawing in a deep breath, he pushed open the door and entered the temple. There was a woman kneeling before a painting of a red ant-like creature. Ariados. It was said a single bite from these tiny insects could leave a grown man in agony for days.

There was a purple scarf wrapped around the woman’s neck, and her light-purple hair was tied up in a bun. She lowered her face to the ground, her palms pressed together as if in silent prayer. “…State your name,” she said.

“Eusine. I hail from Ecruteak City.”

She climbed to her feet then turned around. Although she was a foot shorter than he was, the woman exuded power. She approached him now, a hardened glint in her eyes. “The Burned City. And what a man like you want from me?”

“I require your services.”

“You want someone killed, is that it?” She folded her arms.

He drew in a deep breath, steadying his nerves. “A mage.”

She raised a brow. “A mage? I haven’t had my men deal with one in several years. Why should I help you? Many people enter this temple asking for my services. What makes you any different from the other men? What can you offer me?”

‘This ring made by Suicine himself,” Eusine said, removing the ring from his finger. He held it out to her. “Said to have been made during the war between the gods themselves many centuries ago.”

She took it from him and examined the ring up close. “Looks old. Never seen anything like it before. Odd ring to have in possession especially from a man who doesn’t look like a fighter.” She looked him up and down. “How does a ring like this find itself in your family?”

“It was a gift to my mother from my father years ago. I don’t know the full story, but I do know that it is old and there’s nothing quite like it. I’m willing to part with it in exchange for your help.” If only he was stronger then he could fight Morty on his own.

She slipped the ring on her index finger on her right hand. “It’s certainly beautiful. Who did you want killed?”

“Blond male. A little taller than me. He’s in Blackthorn city serving as a member of the military.” He tried to think of distinguishing features that would better describe Morty, but the man didn’t have any unique markings. “His name is Morty.”

“That isn’t much to work with,” Janine said.

“His hair falls just short of his shoulders too. That should help you identify him better,” Eusine explained.

“Still not helpful. A lot of men fit that description.”

“He won’t ever wear a helm. Doesn’t see the need for it.” That was it. Morty never tried to make himself look different from the others to better conceal his identity. He needed to blend in with the people of Blackthorn. But he disliked helms. He often complained helms made it harder to hear and see properly, and a mage needed all their senses to defend themselves.

“Leaves him quite vulnerable then,” Janine said with a frown.

“Mages can protect their heads without the need for a helm,” Eusine pointed out.

She didn’t ask him to explain how he knew that. “Very well. I’ll send my specialist mage dealers then. You will entertain me until their arrival. I trust you have nowhere else to be?”

He shook his head. “No.”

She smiled. “Excellent.”

* * *

Progress was slow. Much slower than she would’ve liked, but she had her orders. Although Naoko and her sisters ruled over the Ecutreak Brotherhood, they had to answer to someone higher up in the chain of command. N, the head necromancer of the inner circle.

The man lived at the base of the Burned Tower where the body of the high priest Ghetsis slept. No one else could enter the building without permission – only Naoko and her sisters were given such a privilege. Even so, Naoko did not like to enter the tower. There was something about the dark that she found unsettling. Zubats hung down from the ceiling railings and spinarak made themselves at home on the cobwebs in the corners. Rattata scurried along the floor, looking for scraps.

“I hear you’ve received a summoning,” Zuki said.

Naoko turned to face her sister. There were five in total including herself, and each sister held an important role within the inner circle. Naoko was the eldest of the five and therefore had leadership over the Brotherhood. Their exact duties were not known to her – the sisters did not talk about their responsibilities given to them from N. All they knew was they had to find the three holy relics.

Naoko turned to face the woman. “Yes, you heard correctly.”

“I don’t know why Ho-Oh chooses you over us… We’ve all played our role.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps I’ve just been doing a better job of it.”

Zuki folded her arms across her chest. “Your results are no different to ours. We might be sisters, but we can’t see why you are better than us.” She narrowed her eyes and added, “I guess we’ll soon see if we are wrong to doubt in you. Your pet. Morty. Do you trust him to find out what we need?”

“Morty has been a loyal soldier for as long as I’ve served… If you need a reminder of how long, I have served that’s fifteen years and he’s never let me down.”

“But yet you have not promoted him to a higher rank.”

Naoko shook her head. “No. He excels at what he does. Why should I replace him when he’s the best?” Zuki was probably jealous that she wasn’t the favoured one, and she was trying to instil doubt in his mind about Morty’s intentions. Morty wouldn’t betray him. The man was looked after well and given a lot of freedom. “Perhaps you would be favoured if you did not choose to interfere in our plans. Sending that assassin to attack the king - is that what N has asked of you?”

The woman frowned. “Assassinate the king? He is the root of all our problems. We eliminate the king, and the city of Blackthorn is ours for the taking. But of course, you would prefer to take your precious time.”

Naoko narrowed her eyes. “And you are interfering with our plans. I was asked to assign Morty in Blackthorn to find the three holy relics. Assassinating the king would’ve made that much more difficult. I know you are smarter than this, sister. I don’t know what your ulterior motive is, but I can’t spend time discussing trivial matters with you. N has asked for my assistance.

She didn’t wait around any longer than necessary. Although they were sisters, Zuki wasn’t worth her time. She moved past her and to the ladder that led to the lowermost floor. There was a cave below and a coffin that N guarded. He was there now kneeling before it. The scent of decay filled the room. Naoko noticed a circle of various animal heads surrounding the coffin.

“Ah, good. You received my message.”

N didn’t speak much. He only spoke when there was a reason to. The boy was devoted to praying before the coffin listening to the words of Ghetsis. He insisted he needed complete silence to communicate with the dead hence why he kept his distance from the rest of the cult. The need for animal heads was something Naoko didn’t understand, but she supposed it strengthened his magic.

Climbing to his feet, N turned around his long aqua hair just short of reaching the ground. He wore the traditional white robes of the old priesthood with a golden sash around his waist. Piercing cold blue eyes looked back at her.

Naoko bowed his head. “My liege, how may I serve?” Although the man wore no crown atop his head, his loyal subjects referred to him as if he was one.

“I have a favour to ask of you.”

“Anything.”

N glanced over his shoulder at the coffin then turned back to Naoko. “Ghetsis is regaining strength and it won’t be much longer until he awakens from his slumber. But the coffin is sealed with powerful magic that even I can’t break. This coffin was created with magic of the old priests… and only a tool of the ancient days can break it.”

Naoko frowned, looking thoughtful. “You need the three holy relics.”

“Indeed.”

“I have already sent my finest cleric to retrieve them.”

N smiled. A rare emotion. “Excellent. A sceptre, an amulet and a ring. Together, they will resurrect my father, and we shall then have an army of our own to reclaim what has been lost to the non-believers.” He placed both hands on Naoko’s shoulders. “I trust your cleric will find them.”

 _Ah, blood magic,_ Naoko thought. The origins of necromancy originally explored in Unova but practiced for healing. Ghetsis had found another way to manipulate blood to cause both harm and heal. But finding the relics would be no easy task. That’s where Morty came in. If anyone could find them, it was him.

“I’ll ask Morty to keep an eye on things. He’s in Blackthorn as you suggested.”

N nodded. “Good. When you meet with him again, ask him to look for weak points in the city. I’d prefer not to use all our energy on taking down the toughest walls when there is an easier way.”

“Very well then. I will meet with Morty as soon as possible.” Morty would likely be assigned to scout the Old Ruins of Blackthorn to investigate the recent deaths. She would cross paths with him there and give the man the blade.

“Travel well, Naoko. Keep a low profile. We can’t afford to draw attention just yet.” N dropped to his knees again before the coffin. All information had been exchanged. N had no need to speaker further.

Knowing the conversation was over Naoko turned his back and exited the cave.

* * *

Lyra could understand why people loved the royal family so much. They were the ideal representation of mankind. Clair was a tall and beautiful woman with fair skin and a voluptuous frame. Her eyes were a brilliant bright shade of sapphire and her hair a deep shade of royal blue much like the dress she was wearing. Lance was the ideal fantasy male many women dreamed of one day marrying. Like Clair, he was also tall and fair-skinned, but his eyes were dark, and his hair a shade of crimson. He was wearing golden armour with a golden cape which had a dragon’s head stitched onto the back. Her stomach muscles tightened. She couldn’t even meet their gaze.

Edward stood between his two grandchildren. He wore a golden crown upon his hair, and like Lance, he wore golden chainmail. “Clair, this is Lyra. She will be your personal maid.”

“My personal maid? I already have maids,” Clair replied vehemently. “She’s ugly and thin. I don’t want an ugly maid! Why can’t I ever choose my own servants?”

Lance frowned. “She might be plain, Clair, but that won’t affect her ability to serve.”

Lyra kept her eyes on the floor. Clair thought she was ugly. Lance thought she was plain. This wasn’t the introduction she had been hoping to have. “What is she going to do for me that I can’t already do myself?”

“When you marry Benga, you’ll need someone who can help you. You’ll be living in a different city,” Edward explained. “She was found in a village to the far south from here and you and I both know village folk are trained in domestic duties. She will be your personal maid and I expect you to treat her fairly.”

Lyra wasn’t sure what she had done to offend Clair so significantly, but she had a feeling life with Clair was not going to be a pleasant one despite the benefits Ethan explained. Lance seemed more reasonable – at least he wasn’t complaining – but then again, she wasn’t his maid. Clair pouted, folding her arms across her chest. She looked Lyra up and down, her nose turned up in disgust.

“Fine. But she’s going to get a makeover. She won’t be wearing her hair up. And her cheeks need some colour. Better clothing too. She won’t ever look as good as me, but I’ll make sure people won’t make fun of me when she comes along. Lance. Take her to the bathhouse.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Should you not bring her there yourself?”

“Um, public bathhouse Lance. I’m not like you. I don’t lower myself to the level of the common peasants. Please. Get her out of my sight. I don’t want her back until she looks somewhat decent.” Clair shooed him off and turned to face her grandfather. “I’m going to be my room and I’m not coming out until she’s ready.” She stormed off before another word could be said.

Edward looked at Lance. “Prince Benga is due to arrive tomorrow.”

“Ah, right. I take it Clair did not take that news so fondly.”

The elderly man shook his head. “No, she did not.”

Lance glanced at Lyra. She looked down at her feet. Not even a week had passed since she was sold into slavery and already, she was involved in something huge. A wedding! She didn’t know anything about weddings. She hadn’t even ever been to one before. Weddings in her village were simple and short. Just an exchange of words and the man would give his wife a necklace made of local flowers a gift.

“She listens to you, Lance.”

As if Lyra was invisible, Lance and Edward continued to debate.

“And what do you want me to do? Convince her that marriage life will be fantastic? Why would she believe me? I don’t have any experience to draw upon so I can’t tell her something I have no knowledge of, grandfather.”

The man sighed. “Lance, you know this is the right path to take – the _only_ path to take. The future of our family rests upon this marriage and I won’t have it fail.”

Still, Lyra kept her gaze on the ground. It wasn’t as if anyone was expecting her to say anything; her job was simply to follow orders and carry them out to the best of her ability. Ethan had said Clair would be difficult. Knowing she was against this marriage would only make her more prone to moments of rage.

“Because you don’t want that life for me.”

This was news to Lyra. She looked up.

The king shook his head. “Because it’s not the right one for you. We’ve discussed this before, Lance. I only do what is best for you and Clair. Now please. Do as Clair asked and take Lyra away. She must be set apart from the other servants.”

Lance nodded and took his leave, gesturing for Lyra to follow as the king retreated. Once they were out of hearing range of the king, Lance spoke. “You can speak when you feel it is necessary. Do not think you are to remain silence. Servants are treated in the castle differently – grandfather believes servants ought to be treated with respect and so do I. My cousin may think otherwise, but she won’t mistreat you. Come. I’ll take you to the bathhouse.”

“The bathhouse?” Lyra repeated.

He nodded. “Yes. Most people can’t afford to have private baths in their own homes, so they come to the public bathhouse to bathe themselves or wash clothing. There are private rooms, but they do come at a price. Fortunately, you belong to my cousin now which means you are entitled to your own room.” He dug a hand into a pocket and pulled out a small dragon tooth-shaped brooch, then held it out for her to take. “This is the royal seal. Show this to the guards and they will allow you entrance.”

She took it off him and attached the brooch to her shirt. “…Men and women bathe together?” she said slowly, wrapping her head around the idea of sharing a bath with someone of the opposite sex. Even sharing a bath with someone of the same gender was awkward enough.

Lance nodded. “Indeed. I suppose it’s different for you having come from a small village, but folk here are quite open by their sexuality. Grandfather does not approve of course, but we can’t control human needs and wants. You can pay to have someone bathe you or you can do it yourself. Most people prefer another helper to soothe their muscles and reach places that can be hard to reach on your own. That’s why people have servants.”

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She didn’t expect Clair to ask for help when it came to bathing, but what if she did? Or worse, what if Lance asked for her services? It wasn’t as if she could refuse him. Lance was even looking at her with an amused look. Her cheeks burned hot. Why did she have to start blushing now? Now she was just going to come across as an innocent village girl with little experience in anything. She kept her mouth shut earning a light-hearted chuckle from Lance who seemed to find her embarrassment entertaining. She followed him along a cobblestone path towards a large wooden building.

Crowds of people were entering and exiting the bathhouse. Clearly and understandably so, it was a popular place being almost as popular as the tavern. Lance walked up to the main entrance blocked by two soldiers. All he had to do was look at them and the guards stepped aside.

Lyra remained close to Lance as they entered the building. The bathhouse wasn’t what she had imagined. She had expected to see small tubs of water lined up in a row. Instead, she saw a giant pool of water filled with many people and hardly anyone seemed to care they were exposed. There were naked women sitting on the sides of the pool giving each other back rubs and naked men on the opposite side fully exposed. Some people had cloths wrapped around their waistlines, but for most part, every part was visible. Her cheeks reddened, and she kept her eyes on the ground.

Lance led her to the opposite side of the pool. A few people called Lance’s name and he responded in kind. Eventually, they came to a stop and it was then Lyra looked up once more and found they were looking at a door.

A woman in a simple white dress exited the room. She smiled at them both. “I’ve cleaned the bathtub. Enjoy yourself and it’s free of charge for you, Lance. If you need any assistance, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Lance shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, but I have Lyra to assist.”

The woman looked disappointed but managed another smile. “Good day to you then.” She walked away.

“I thought I was supposed to be getting a makeover?” Lyra said, turning to face Lance.

“All you need is a quiet bath and the serving girls at the castle can help you with your hair. My cousin tends to be a little overly dramatic about many things. She has a temper and she can be very demanding, but don’t take her words to heart. If she ever gives you too much trouble, you can always come to me.”

Frowning, Lyra said, “But I’m her maid.”

“And you are still a person entitled to basic rights. Other people think of slaves as lesser beings, but I choose not to. You’re still people and you have a right for proper treatment.” The bath was no different to the one open to the public in terms of design; it only differed in size being fit for no more than two people. The tub back in her village was made from wood and lined with a linen cloth to protect the bather from splinters. Servants were required to fill the tubs with buckets of water, and they were to empty the tubs afterwards. The same procedure applied to the bathhouses and water was only changed every couple of weeks. “Please. Feel free to bathe.”

Her ears reddened. “Um… Right here?”

“Do you want to bathe with the other people in dirty water?”

She studied his expression. He couldn’t be serious, could he? Was he suggesting that she undress before him? Wasn’t this supposed to be a private bathroom? “I just… I thought... Isn’t this private?” Her face was burning hot now. She was probably so red someone else would mistake her for being sunburnt.

“It is more convenient if we use the same tub as it less work for the serving girls here. Carrying buckets back and forth all day long is quite damaging to the body and the mid. I will turn away and look elsewhere whilst you undress.”

 _How blunt,_ she thought. Could she trust him to keep his gaze elsewhere? Couldn’t he just wait outside? She knew that most men wouldn’t turn away if a naked woman was within range, but he was supposedly the noble respectable one. He turned his back and looked down at the floor. She waited for a few moments to pass before deciding to take the chance. Having a bath would certainly feel nice. She kept her eyes trained on his back, making sure he didn’t turn around, as she removed her clothing, placing it neatly on a heap nearby.

She quickly climbed into the bathtub and sunk low enough to cover her entire body below her chin. Still, she felt vulnerable. Bringing her knees to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her legs, keeping her gaze averted. She heard him undress and didn’t look in his direction until she heard him enter the bath. How did people become so comfortable with being fully undressed in front of others?

Lance reached an arm over the right side of the bath and picked up a soft soap bar. It was made of mutton fat, potash and natural soda. The rich people used olive oil in their soaps to give the soap a pleasant scent, but Lance didn’t seem to care. “I trust you didn’t have baths in your village?”

Lyra shook her head, keeping her gaze locked on his face. “We lived near the ocean. The ocean became our way of keeping clean. We would our clothes in the water. Wash our food items. Take baths when needed.” Her mother had always said New Bark Town was an independent village thanks to their proximity to the ocean. It had been a tight knit community until bandits had burned it to the ground.

As if he sensed her sadness, Lance spoke up again and said, “I apologize. I didn’t mean to bring up the past. The loss of your village must still be fresh on your mind.”

“Yeah… But I don’t really want to talk about it.” Several days had passed since the slaughter, and it still haunted her mind when she closed her eyes. She remembered it all so vividly. Her mother’s death. The wolves. Ash and May dying. And she had done nothing to help them. Perhaps that is why Arceus kept her alive so she could feel guilty for not helping.

“You saw someone die. Your first time,” Lance said.

It was as if he had read her mind. Or perhaps she was too transparent that he was able to read the grief and sadness on her face. She didn’t move her arms. As tempting as it was to grab some soap for herself, she didn’t want to risk exposing herself too much. She already felt vulnerable as it was now. “I saw many people die. The bandits…” She didn’t mention the wolves. Shaking her head, she added, “I have to focus on the future and my responsibilities in serving the princess. This marriage… Do you think it will beneficial?” It wasn’t her place to ask, but since she’d be serving Clair, she thought she’d be quite involved in it. Besides, Lance seemed open to conversation. After all, he encouraged her to speak freely.

Lance looked hesitant. “I don’t know. I want to say yes it will be, but she’s never experienced married life and neither have I nor does she have anyone close to her to ask for details. A woman’s role is quite different from a man’s as you know. Grandmother died. My parents died. Clair’s parents also died. Grandfather raised us both as best as he could. There are political reasons for the marriage; he wants to gain the friendship of Unova.” He frowned, as if deep in thought or bothered by his own words.

“Does he think the kingdom’s safety will be threatened in the future?” Why else would he seek a political marriage like this? People arranged marriages when they were looking for future security.

Lance looked conflicted. “He would never admit it if that was the case. My grandfather has his secrets that he’ll probably take with him to the grave. I don’t know why he does what he does. I don’t even know why he hates the mages and the wolves so much after all these years – they’ve never openly attacked us. It was my grandfather that gave the order to bring the fight to them. I just… I do as he asks. Because it’s the right thing to do,” he said slowly, brows furrowed, as if he was second guessing himself.

 _Loyal to the end,_ Lyra concluded. He was a knight. It made sense that he had to do what was required of him even if he thought it was wrong. She wondered if he was forcing himself to make conversation with her because it was the right action to take or if he was genuinely interested in her words. “You’d do anything.”

“He’s my grandfather. He’s the king. He makes questionable decisions, but I swore an oath to obey every command.”

“Even if you don’t agree?” She then bit her bottom lip, as if regretting her choice of words. Although he had encouraged her to speak her mind, did freedom have a limit? What if she angered him? “I’m sorry. This is not my place,” she added quickly, casting her eyes downwards.

Unbothered, he said, “Speak your mind. Your words will not be passed onto anyone else. I don’t have much of a chance to speak to other people… Your perspective is interesting especially since you’re foreign to these walls. You see things differently.” He then frowned, seemingly lost in thought then, “To answer your question, I do as what is asked of me. Regardless of the consequences.”

She was impressed by his commitment to upholding the oath, but there were so many flaws in his thinking. Following through with an order despite knowing it was wrong seemed like cowardice. Daring herself to speak more, she said, “That’s commitment.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Everyone has a choice.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really? You didn’t choose to become a slave.”

“I didn’t mean that. I meant if you know deep down in your heart that it’s not the right course of action to take, why follow through with it anyway knowing the consequences?’ She had made a choice in refusing to help Ash and May. If she had involved herself, she might have died too. Perhaps she was just a coward. “What if the people you were ordered to kill were innocent and you killed them for the sake of an order? Does that make you a noble man?”

He narrowed his eyes. “…You’re quite perceptive for a village girl.”

She bit down on her lower lip. Perhaps it wasn’t the time to speak up. After all, she was just a servant. “My mother knew a lot.”

“So, it seems. Quite odd for a peasant. And your father?”

“He died when I was young. No one knows how. He just didn’t come home one day.”

“My condolences. It must’ve been difficult.”

She shook her head. “There was a lot of work to do, but we managed. I learned how to cook and clean, but I also learned how to chop wood and hunt wild animals for food.” Although there were other men in the village, her mother never relied on them for help. She preferred to do everything on her own.

He seemed surprised. “I’ve never heard of a woman hunting or chopping wood before. Are you going to tell me that you can also wield a sword and use a bow?”

“Not in combat. Just for hunting.” Her mother thought it was essential for a woman to know the jobs a man was expected to do. The absence of a father only made it more important. Strangely, her mother never seemed to tire of the work, and she made it look easy. On the other hand, Lyra found it difficult to keep up, but her mother insisted it would become easier in time. “She also taught me how to read and write.” This was a rarity for women in small towns and villages. Women weren’t supposed to be educated.

“What did she teach you to read?”

“History books mostly and some cooking recipes. Oh, there was also a book about plant life.” And a book about potions and how to cure various ailments but she didn’t mention that. He might assume she was connected to magic use. “History has always fascinated me. How the world came to be. The great wars of the past. The legendary heroes of past generations and their achievements. I could go on.” Talking about her mother only reminded her of how much she missed the woman. She fought to hold back tears.

Much to her surprise, he chuckled. “You are definitely not what I was expecting,” he said slowly. “Many of the castle servants lack the ability to read and write as well though we’ve had a few educated. It certainly makes things a lot easier knowing you can read and write. You can entertain Clair with your stories. Have you ever given a shoulder massage before?”

She almost spluttered. Fortunately, she was able to steady her tone. He wanted a shoulder massage now? Was she also acting as his personal maid too? It was starting to feel like it. First, he wanted to share a bath with her and now he wanted her to give him a massage. What would be next? Share his bed? He wasn’t allowed to marry or so she had overheard, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use someone for his own needs. “Erm, yes.”

“Excellent. Please.” He gave her an expectant look.

“Err, of course.”

He closed his eyes and leaned back, making himself comfortable. Lyra climbed out of the bath and looked for something to cover herself with, finding a brown towel to wrap around her body. She made sure it was fastened tight then dropped down on her knees behind Lance, placing her hands on his shoulders. Slowly, she began to work her fingers, earning herself what she hoped was a satisfied grunt from Lance.

“You’ve done this before.”

“Yes. It would help relax the shoulders after a hard day’s work.”

She continued to knead her fingers, applying further pressure to his shoulders. He was tense at first, but slowly relaxed, growing accustomed to her movements. He seemed comfortable at least. That was a sign she was doing something right. A good start. Lance rubbed the back of his neck. That’s when she noticed it. An odd mark.

“Is it common for your people to have markings on the back of their necks?” she said, her eyes drawn to a strange crescent mark. It was small – no larger than a thumbnail – and if he hadn’t drawn her attention there, she never would’ve noticed.

“What do you mean?” Lance replied, pulling back his hand.

He seemed just as confused as she was. Perhaps he didn’t know, or he was just feigning ignorance. “Well, there’s a crescent moon on the back of your neck. It’s quite small, but it’s there. I’ve seen it before. In mother’s books.”

He glanced over his shoulder and looked up at her, his brows furrowed. Again, he rubbed the back of his neck, as if he thought he could remove it by itching at it. “Your mother’s books?”

“Yes. She used to write a lot. Her daily observations and the like. She told me a story when I was a little girl about the moon and the wolves. Many people believe the wolves are bad, but mother thought otherwise. She said they were guardians, the protectors of humans. She said one day the wolves would earn their title and the trust of the people.”

He frowned. “Protectors? Wolves are a danger.”

“Do you really believe that?”

Silence then, “My grandfather fears them.” He pulled his hand away again.

He hadn’t answered the question. She looked at the crescent marking. It didn’t look like it had been burned onto his skin with a hot iron rod, but rather it was just a part of him. She reached out a hand and touched it gently but withdrew almost instantly upon feeling an electrical shock in her fingertips. Lance must’ve felt it too because he jumped, startled. “I’m sorry,” Lyra said, pulling her hand. “I didn’t mean…”

“You didn’t do anything,” he replied slowly.

Her mother used to say that an electrical shock between two people was a sign of sexual compatibility, but Lyra wasn’t sure if she was teasing or serious. Besides, Lance was a royal and she was a servant to his cousin. He would probably be disowned by his grandfather if he pursued a relationship with a slave. “…I should probably return to Clair.”

He nodded. “Of course.” He remained in the bath.

Lyra grabbed her clothing and dressed herself again whilst he kept his gaze averted. “Right.”

“I assume you know your way back?”

“Yes.”

“’I’m sorry about this. If I made you uncomfortable then I apologize, but I’m glad we had a chance to talk. Perhaps we’ll talk again soon when Clair has allowed you free time. I look forward to it. You are an interesting individual. You’ll have to tell me about your mother’s tales one day.”

So formal and polite. Lance was the nice one out of the royal cousins. Despite the awkwardness of sharing a bath together, it hadn’t gone as bad as she thought it would be. Their short conversation had been enjoyable and revealed a fair bit of information about Lance. He was the noble loyal knight dedicated to completing a cause no matter the consequence because of an oath. He could be trusted. Now she had to see how Clair compared. She said her farewells and took her leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you do like the story and how it is progressing, please let me know. A comment does let the author know they're doing something right :)


	11. A Conflict of Interests

Gary hoped Tracey was able to look after the tavern whilst he was absent. As much as he would’ve preferred to be at the tavern, Bugsy’s threat wasn’t one he could ignore. He needed to find the damned sceptre and hide it somewhere safe. Only then would the eccentric boy leave him alone.

He was standing at the main city gates waiting for one of the guards to arrive. Bugsy lived on the outer walls of the city in the farmlands so at least he didn’t have to wait for him. He certainly didn’t need the guards asking him why he was leaving the city with the so-called local idiot. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long. Hearing footsteps approaching, Gary spun around and spotted Brock. Good. Brock was one of the more lenient guards.

Brock looked at him. “Gary Oak? What are you doing out here at night all alone?”

“Tracey is watching over the tavern, but we’re running low on some essentials. I thought I’d gather some stuff up.”

“At night?” Brock replied with a frown.

Gary nodded. “Yeah. At night.”

“That doesn’t seem like a wise decision, Oak. It’s dangerous in the dark. You can’t see properly. Your grandfather would be most upset if he heard you were planning on heading outside after dark to gather ingredients… Besides, shouldn’t you have done that during the daylight hours?”

All good questions. He wasn’t sure if he even had the right answers to convince Brock going out at night was the smartest decision. If it came down it, he’d have to pay up to keep him quiet. Any guard would keep their mouth shut if offered enough money. “I’m not going into the forest, Brock. I just to head outside near the farmlands.”

“I should come with you.”

That was the last thing he wanted. “You’ve got your job, Brock. Being the gatekeeper. Look. It won’t even take that long. Besides. Tracey needs to learn how work a tavern alone. What if I get sick or something? It’s good training for him.” Excuses, excuses, that’s all he had to offer. They weren’t even good excuses. “You know what would look suspicious? A soldier leaving the walls to escort the tavern owner into the farmlands. People would be asking… What is that soldier doing? You look more suspicious than me.”

“…I suppose you have a point.”

“You’re a gatekeeper, remember? Besides. I can walk anywhere I want if I don’t stray too far from the castle. It really isn’t any of your business to know what I’m doing out here.” Most other guards would continue to pester him until he provided them with money, but Brock wasn’t stern enough to be a guard. He was too soft and kind. He wasn’t even sure how the man even passed the trials to become a guard in the first place. There wasn’t really a violent bone in that man’s body.

“…Point raised. Well. I won’t say anything. Just… Stay safe out there.”

Gary rolled his eyes. “What’s the worse that is going to happen? Chickens?” He scoffed. He didn’t want to think of the potential threats in the crypt. Some people believed in ghosts. He knew there were dangerous animals in the wilderness and goblins on the mountains, but he wasn’t a believer in ghosts. “Why did you become a guard? It’s not like you seem to enjoy this job.”

“Why did you become a tavern owner?”

“I asked you first.”

Brock sighed. “I needed to support my family, Gary. Twelve brothers and sisters all varying ages. This is the only job I could get to help cover the costs of raising twelve siblings. The older ones help on the farms, but they pay isn’t great. I worked hard to get here, Gary. Not all of us are lucky to be born into wealth.”

Although the Oaks did not possess half the wealth the Blackthorns had, they were certainly in a much better position than the rest of the population. “I wanted this life. I didn’t want to be holed up in some castle room working on creating potions and deciphering old texts for the remainder of my life. At least working in a tavern, I get to socialize and be around fun people.”

Brock didn’t argue. “You didn’t want to be a soldier.”

“And do what? Wave a sword around in the air? I was never a fighter. Grandfather would’ve wanted me to become one of the knights, but living a chaste life? That’s not me. It’s not a look that suits me.” He gestured towards the portcullis. “If you would kindly please open the gates so I can do my job?”

Brock nodded and headed inside the fortification to rotate the winch to pull the chains up. He dropped down to his stomach and crawled through – he didn’t need the gate opened fully. The sound of chains would attract attention. He wanted to be as discreet as possible. Dropping to the ground, he crawled through to the other side then clambered to his feet and carried on with his journey.

* * *

Lance hadn’t intended to leave Lyra alone to find her way back to the castle, but her findings had left him unsettled. The past week had introduced him to troubling information about himself and there was only one person who would have answers – his grandfather. He was immune to elemental spells. He was allergic to some potion of Samuel’s. And now he discovered he had some strange marking on the back of his neck that had never been brought to his attention before.

He was planning on visiting Samuel to question him more about his past, but he found Clair standing outside looking at the castle’s main garden. Samuel could wait. Changing course, he headed towards Clair instead. She was holding a ceramic cup. “The plants aren’t going to take care of themselves.”

The garden was Edward’s pride and joy. The man spent countless hours down here walking along the cobblestone path, studying the large diversity of flowers that were planted in eight separate garden beds. Although the garden was no larger than his own room, the man proclaimed the flowers calmed his nerves. Sometimes, his grandfather could be found trimming the hedges.

Clair glanced over shoulder. “I don’t like flowers.”

“Yet here you are admiring them.” He drew her attention to a red rose, prompting her to roll her eyes in response. “You know women like flowers.”

“I’m not like most women. Most women would love to be married to a foreign prince.”

Ah, of course. The reason for her stress. The upcoming marriage. That’s why she had come to the garden. To hopefully distract her mind. “Grandfather only wants want is best for us, Clair.”

She turned to her face him brows furrowed in anger. “For political means, Lance. Grandfather doesn’t do things for me out of love. He does it because it’s a means of cementing his power. Unova would make a powerful ally, and he knows this and that’s why he wants to marry me off to a man I’ve never met once.” She kicked the path then winced.

“You’ll have power and wealth,” Lance tried to reason.

She gave him a cold stare. “Do you really believe I’ll be in a better off position there than here? It’ll be so much worse, and the man’s much older than I! And he’s boring, Lance!” she whined, throwing her hands up in the air from frustration. “He likes to read. He likes to write. He’s interested in philosophy. He doesn’t like gossip, and he’s hardly interested in warfare. He’s going to bore me death!” With a cry of frustration, Clair threw the cup across the garden, shattering it against a wall. The liquid splattered and ran down the tiles, filling the garden with its bitter scent.

“I will come and visit you as often as I am allowed.”

Clair drew in a deep breath. Troubled and confused she said, “I can’t do anything in this life without grandfather’s approval. I wish I was a commoner, sometimes. Karen can do whatever she pleases.”

“And that woman is vile and beneath your company,” Lance remarked wearing a frown of his own.

“She shows me how to have fun,” Clair replied bitterly. “Benga will put me to sleep on my feet. I’ve heard his flesh is as pale as death itself. I’m repulsed at the thought of having to spend a single evening with that foul man.” She turned to him again.

“I have no influence over our grandfather’s mind, Clair. He does as he pleases.”

“Do you ever question him?”

“I’m in no position too, Clair. He has just as much power over me as he does over you.”

She made a sardonic laugh. “Except he’s not forcing you to marry an ugly boring person and live in a foreign land. I’ve heard the stories. The Unovans have different customs from us. They welcome magic.”

Lance raked a hand through his hair, trying to think of something that would put Clair’s mind at ease, but words failed him. Clair had a wild and reckless spirit – Benga was stable and mature. He supposed Edward thought such a man would encourage Clair to settle down and behave like a typical domestic wife. “Would you prefer to be outside with a sword in your hand deciding who lives and dies?”

“It would be far more exciting than Prince Benga.” She fell silent, regaining her composure, holding the tears at bay. Her hands moved to the amulet around her neck as if it brought her comfort. “I want to live life, Lance. I don’t want to be stuck in some castle tending to my husband’s every need. There’s a whole world beyond these walls I want to explore, but I don’t get that chance. The only time I’ll get to venture outside is when I depart for Unova.”

“The life I live isn’t so glamorous, Clair. Sometimes, I could be out in the wild for days caught out in the rain with no warm bed to sleep on at night. Sometimes, I’m forced to wear the same armour for days with no clean water in sight. Every time I venture outside these walls, I don’t know if I’m going to return home,” he explained, his thoughts shifting to Brawley and Yellow once more. They both lived in the wild. Forced to live in a hostile environment because of his grandfather.

“Do you think we are in danger?” she said softly, her hands still clutching at the amulet.

That caught Lance by surprise. He raised an eyebrow. “Why would you ask that?”

“Because why would he marry me off now? Why not last year? Why not when I was younger? Most women marry when they turn thirteen. Sometimes even younger. I’m twenty. Why would he wait so long? There are other noble lords in this world, I’m sure, but he’s specifically arranged a marriage with the most powerful family outside our own.”

The corpses of the mother and her children appeared in his mind. Signs of necromancy, but no one wanted to believe him. Clair’s eyes were wide, uncertain, and seeking comfort. He could lie to her, but she’d find out later and blame him for lying and hiding secrets. “We live in a dangerous world.”

“Necromancers.”

“You’ve heard.”

“I’ve read the stories.”

After a moment’s pause, he said, “They exist, yes.”

“You’ve seen something,” she said, the fear in her eyes fading, replaced with renewed curiosity.

Clair had warrior’s heart but had the body of a woman. If she were a man, she would be the bravest of them all. “Yes, I shouldn’t speak much of it. I don’t have much evidence to work with yet. Besides, shouldn’t you be with Lyra and teaching her things? She’s your servant.”

“I didn’t need a personal servant.”

“She’ll be good for you.”

“And someone else I need to waste my time with. I’ve already got Benga to deal with, and now a slave girl too? What exactly can she do for me that I can’t do myself?”

“I think you’ll find her quite interesting. She’s quite perceptive and knows quite a fair bit about this world from her mother’s books. If she wasn’t a slave, she’d make any man happy with her skill set,” Lance said, reflecting on their brief time in the baths. A slave who knew how to read and write, but cook and clean, as well as chop wood. “Keep her close, Clair. She could save your life. I have to leave now and visit Samuel about something, but I’ll try to see you before the wedding, okay?”

She nodded. “Benga’s supposed to arrive tomorrow. Maybe if I’m lucky I’ll die and escape him,” she muttered.

He could only chuckle in response. “I think you’ll find this marriage not to be as bad as you believe it to be. I promise, I’ll visit you often, okay? I’ll bring you gifts.” His eyes shifted to the amulet. “…Not as old as that one, but I’ll try my best.”

A smile spread across her face, and she threw her arms around him. A rare gesture of appreciation from her. “How am I ever going to manage without you around?” She pulled back.

“You will because you’re not weak.”

“I guess.”

Lance gave Clair a hug. She hugged him back tightly. “You’re not weak, Clair. If I could, I would teach you how to fight. But I must leave you now. I will see you again at the wedding.” He pulled back then turned around to leave.

* * *

It was a fine morning. The city was stirring with the excitement of a royal wedding approaching, but Blaine was more interested in selling his slaves to make coin rather than the matters of the royals. It wasn’t as if the royals cared much about his life.

“Ah, Surge, have you dropped by to examine the slaves?” Blaine said, casting Alan aside into the arms of his guards. Alan had reached his end. Blackthorn had no use for weaklings. The guards took Alan away from the slave camp. The man would become food for the dogs.

Surge drew out his sword and advanced towards the slaves. He pretended to hit one of the slaves with his sword and laughed loudly as the slave jumped backwards. “Pathetic,” he said, a smirk on his face. “Greetings yourself Blaine.”

Clasping his hands together, Blaine said, “Are you looking to purchase a slave?”

Surge nodded. “Indeed. My last slave died of some odd disease. Couldn’t fathom how she could’ve caught it. Heard the king bought himself a nice slave. Shame. She looked like a nice one to tame.”

“You like young girls, do you? How about this one ‘ere?” Blaine shifted his gaze towards Jasmine. She had her arms wrapped around herself, as if keeping warm from a cold wind. She’s a pretty one.”

Surge looked at the pale girl. “That indeed.”

“You like the look of her? You can have her if you want. She’s a vicious one. Tried to fight me off earlier.”

“That’s how I like them. Fierce.” The corners of Surge’s mouth curved into a grin. “She’s not bad on the eyes Blaine, but she is terribly weak. Look at how frail she is.” He pointed the sword at her highlighting the bruises and cuts on her arms. “She does not look like she will last more than a day out here.”

Blaine revealed the underside of his arm to Surge. Teeth marks lined his skin. “I wish to get rid of her as soon as possible. The little devil bit me earlier.” He glared at Jasmine only to receive a glare in response. “See how she looks at me?”

“You’re scared of a mere slave girl?” Surge said, clapping Blaine on the shoulder. “Fine. I’ll purchase her just to get her off your hands.”

Blaine sighed with relief. “That will be one thousand gold coins.”

Surge’s eyebrows arched in response. “That is expensive Blaine. She is not worth more than a gold coin for sure!”

“With proper care Jasmine will become healthy.” Although he didn’t want the girl in prime condition, he didn’t want her under his care either. There was something about the way she looked at him that sent a cold shudder of concern down his spine. It was ridiculous! Fear of a slave. He was a slave master! He could easily end her miserable life, but something held him back.

“I’m not going to purchase a slave for a thousand gold coins,” Surge said, “I’d rather spend my hard-earned coin at the Pidgeotto’s Nest.”

“But you always spend your hard-earned coin at the tavern,” Blaine replied, “and every night I have to take you back to your home because you can’t find it.”

Surge glared at the slave master. He didn’t like being reminded. “Surely you can lower the price for your friend?”

Blaine sighed. “All right... seven hundred gold coins.”

“Five hundred.”

“Four hundred and fifty.”

“Two hundred and fifty.”

“Two hundred and nothing less.”

Surge smirked. “Pleasure doing business with you Blaine.” He dug into his pocket and handed Blaine the coin.

Blaine mumbled under his breath. “I hope she bites you...” He walked to the shade and picked up a rope. “If the slave is disobedient simply tie this around her. You’ll have control this way and she won’t be able to escape.” He handed the rope to Surge and grabbed a whip. “And take this whip just in case she tries to bite you. You have to discipline these slaves and show them who is in control.”

Surge took the whip and rope from Blaine and marched over to Jasmine “I’m Surge. You’re coming with me now.” He held out his hand for her to take. Jasmine didn’t move; only glared up at him. Surge frowned. “I’m not a slave master. I’m a soldier responsible for saving your lives from bandits,” he said.

“What are you planning to do with her?” Silver said.

Juan pointed the tip of his sword at the red-headed slave. “Who is this rat?” He turned his nose up in disgust.

“You don’t remember him?” Blaine turned to face him. “That’s Silver, one of the bandits. We found him abandoned in the forest, wounded. It seems like he was rejected by his own people, so he was captured and taken here. He’s a loyal slave this one. Tough. Mean. There’s a fire burning in his eyes and I like that.”

“Are you going to sell him?” Surge said looking at Blaine.

Blaine shook his head. “Don’t bother trying to make a deal for this one Surge. He’s a rare slave; I doubt I’ll ever find one like this again.”

Surge placed the tip of his sword on Silver’s shoulder. “If you don’t look after him better, he’s going to die. If he’s as rare as you say I think I’d take better care of him.” He pulled the sword away and turned his attention back on Jasmine. “Come on girl, you are to come with me. That’s an order from your new owner.”

Jasmine took Surge’s hand and helped herself up from the ground.

“Thanks again Blaine.”

“I still need a favour.” Blaine looked at Silver again. The boy was still staring. He snapped his fingers. “Get back to work, boy!” Obedient as always, Silver returned to his task of loading stone onto oxen carts.

“And what would that be? I’m sure you didn’t ask me to come here to purchase a slave.”

“I’m thinking of hosting another Slave Pits fight. You know the locals love it. I’ll need some weapons of course if you have anything to spare.”

Surge raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure I can do something,” he repeated.

“I have been toying with the idea of slave racing. It would have to take place in the Pits of course… King won’t like animals running wild in the streets.”

“Slave racing?

Blaine nodded. He rubbed his hands together gleefully. “The slaves will line up and we will release the wild animals into the pits! The slaves will get chased around in the circles and the soldiers place bets on which slave will survive the longest.” If some slaves were lost it was no big deal. He would find new slaves to replace the fallen.

“You wish to put slaves in a blood sport to entertain the people?”

“I know it sounds violent, but they are just slaves. Their lives are meaningless, it doesn’t matter if one dies,” Blaine reasoned. “As long as people can continue breeding, there will always be slaves for us to claim. That is the cycle of life.”

Surge chuckled. “I don’t have an issue with it. Just why didn’t you think of it earlier?”

With a grin, Blaine said, “Excellent. I expect the camels by sunset.”

Surge responded with another nod then grabbed Jasmine’s hand to lead her away.

Blaine turned his attention back to Silver. The boy had listened to every word. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t as if the boy was smart enough to try anything. The boy was loyal. Silver always obeyed without complaint. Why would he try to leave? “You. Boy. Come with me. You’re going to help me prepare for the slave racing.”

Silver just nodded. The boy rarely spoke. Sometimes he wondered if the boy was even capable of forming coherent sentences. Perhaps that was why he kept his mouth silent most of the time. He wasn’t complaining. A quiet obedient slave was a good slave. How he disliked having to deal with talkative slaves who thought they had power here. Blaine didn’t speak further – what else was there needed to be said? Silver followed him in silence. The real festivities would commence after the wedding.

* * *

Bugsy was waiting exactly where he said he would be – outside the cave that was home to the ancient priests. The man had claimed the bugs and spiders had led him there, and Gary could see a trail of ants heading inside. He wasn’t sure why the insects were attracted; it wasn’t as if there’d be any meat left over to feed on, but perhaps they were drawn to the old magic.

“Did you have any problems?”

Gary shook his head and walked up to the cave entrance. “No. So why hasn’t anyone come in here before? You’d think those treasure hunter people would come looking.”

“They have… But they can’t pass through the door. That’s why I know the sceptre is hidden down here. If you have something important to hide, you’d do everything in your power to ensure it was kept hidden right? That’s why the insects and spiders are drawn here. There is powerful old magic here.” Bugsy headed inside.

Gary looked over his shoulder to ensure no one else was about, then followed him inside. “How do we open this door?”

Bugsy looked at him. “Your blood. You’re a descendant of Nathaniel Oak. He used the sceptre to seal things of importance… to prevent other people from breaking in. Blood is power, Gary. I was able to decode the text outside on the door. You’ll see it when we get there.” He continued moving down a dark pathway until they reached an iron door painted red.

There were strange symbols on the surface - pictures instead of letters. He had seen similar symbols before in the books his grandfather liked to read, but he paid little attention to their meanings. “Right. My blood. Great.”

“Your ancestors were priests, Gary – the first of the mages. It only makes sense that your blood unlocks the door.”

Necromancy - to use blood to strengthen your own power at the expense of other life. It made him uneasy. He was always told not to trifle with magic. If Edward found out the truth, he’d be sentenced to death. Gary dug a hand into a pocket, his fingers brushing up against the hilt of a small cutting knife. Pulling the knife out, he placed it against his wrist and drew in a deep breath. “I really hope this works…” Foolishness. Was this even real? “How do you even know that it does? How do you know this stuff?”

“My mother was a mage,” Bugsy said. “Magic runs through my blood. Just as it runs through yours. I’ve been watching you for a long time and I’ve been digging around for information. I learned about you.”

Gary raised an eyebrow. A mage? He never would have even guessed. He supposed that is why the boy kept his distance in case people found out the truth and had him executed before a mob. Bugsy often spoke about his friends. Now it made sense to Gary. His friends were nature itself. The bugs. Creatures small enough to sneak into any room undetected. “You never said anything before.”

“I wasn’t sure how you would react,” he said slowly. “But I trust you. You haven’t turned me away. You’ve listened to me when no one else would. I had my reservations about you… But the insects brought me here and I saw your name. Well, your family name here and I knew you could be trusted. You belong to the bloodline of the first mages, Gary.”

“They don’t mean anything to me. Never cared for magic and I don’t see why I should start caring now just because of my ancestry.” He still didn’t understand why it was so important to take the sceptre and hide it elsewhere. If the crypt itself was protected by a blood barrier then would it not have been best to leave it as is? Or did Bugsy think someone would find Gary and bring him here to open the door?

“Regardless of your feelings towards magic, you can’t deny your importance.”

Gary sighed again and glanced down at the knife in his hands. If his grandfather knew about this… then he’d never be allowed to work in the tavern again. He’d have to stay under his grandfather’s nose where the old man could watch over him. Drawing in a deep breath, he raised his left arm, his wrist facing upwards. He brought the knife to the exposed wrist then gently pressed the blade against the skin. He applied extra pressure until the blade pierced the flesh, biting down hard on his lower lip to stop himself from making a sound. Crimson blood seeped out of the wound. “This had better work…” he murmured, pressing his bleeding wrist against the door.

At first, there was nothing. But then the symbols on the door started to glow. He pulled back his arm and pressed his right hand against the wound as if it would stop the blood flow. “Step back from the door,” Bugsy said, taking a few steps back. “We don’t know what’s hiding behind it.”

Gary obeyed. Aside from the small knife he was carrying, it wasn’t as if they were armed. He watched the door slowly crumble. The walls of the cave trembled, and bits and pieces of soil fell onto the ground as the door collapsed. “…Well I guess this crypt isn’t protected anymore,” Gary murmured. He waited for the dust to clear before stepping inside. Not surprisingly, it was cold, damp and dark. Bugsy ripped a piece of cloth from his shirt and wrapped it around a stick. He pressed a hand against it, said a few words Gary didn’t understand, and the cloth was set alight. “…Magic,” Gary muttered.

“It has its uses,” Bugsy replied, leading the way inside. The crypt itself was small. It was smaller than the tavern and surprisingly the three coffins were open. The coffins themselves were engraved with strange symbols – each of the coffins had a symbol of a tortoise in the stone. The Blastoise. The family heirloom symbol said to protect the wearer from evil. But wasn’t blood magic a type of evil power?

Gary walked over to the middle coffin and peered down. Although the corpse was centuries old, it still looked recent. The power of blood magic had obviously kept the body in mint condition. “Strange really… These people are supposed to be my ancestors, yet I hardly know anything about them.” The priest’s hands were resting on stomach, his fingers curled around the sceptre. The sceptre itself was golden in colour and it had six red horns curved upwards on its head around a red orb.

“You’ll have to pick it up.”

“You want me to touch a dead body?”

Bugsy frowned. “Are you scared?”

Gary snorted. “No.” Scared wasn’t the word. Repulsed was far more fitting. He made a face and looked down at the sceptre again. So much work involved for a powerful weapon and he was the only one besides his grandfather that could retrieve it from the priests. He reached a hand down, his fingers brushing up against the cold skin of the priest. “I can’t believe I am doing this…” he murmured, gently prying the fingers from the sceptre. He was worried the fingers would snap off, but they didn’t. Still, he cringed every time he heard them crack.

“It’ll be worth it.”

“Will it? Wouldn’t it have been better to keep this weapon in here?”

Bugsy shook his head. “The necromancers exist, Gary. They will come looking for you… And if they find you or your grandfather, they will bring you here and they’d take the weapon. Better you keep it within the castle where it will be far better protected,” he explained.

Gary wasn’t convinced. If the necromancers invaded the castle, then they could still just take him and drag him to the crypt against his will to remove the barrier, but he kept his thoughts to himself. “What’s so special about it anyway?”

“That sceptre was created with powerful magic, Gary,” Bugsy said, looking at the weapon. “A powerful mage could channel that magic into something else... Resurrect the fallen. With that weapon you are holding, the necromancers would have the power to raise an army of the dead. Well, one of three holy relics.”

Gary raised an eyebrow. “So why the hell can’t I just keep it trapped in here?”

“You’re not the only person in your family with the surname Oak.”

Right. His sister whom he hadn’t seen in years. “My sister. I don’t even know where she is.”

“And if they found her, and used her blood to open this tomb, then we’d all be in trouble.”

Gary sighed. “Even if you are right… How do we even know the necromancers are still around? You said you had seen signs… But why has no one else noticed anything odd?”

“Because I’m a mage, Oak. I can sense what normal folk can’t. You should be able to as well if you focused your mind well enough. You can feel it. It’s like a dark cloud hanging over your head everywhere you go, a sense of impending doom that will come if we don’t act,” he said, tone laced with a sudden urgency. “I could teach you magic. The king will not act for he does not believe, but we can.”

Gary took a step back, rubbing his hands on his pants, as if they were covered in dirt. “I’m not going to partake in performing magic tricks, Bugsy. I might be a descendant of the priests, but I’m nothing like them.” He forced a dry laugh. “I’m not like you. I’m not going to reveal your identity, but we’re done here. That’s it. I’ll take the sceptre back and hide it, but I’m not going to join you.” Bugsy had known about his connections to magic. He supposed that’s why the boy was always seeking him out.

The man frowned. “I thought you wanted this, Gary. You always talked to me. You let me in. I thought we were friends.”

Gary shook his head. “We’re not friends, Bugsy. We never were. I listened because that’s what I do. It’s my job to listen. But it’s not my job to enter crypts and retrieve magical items and get involved in blood magic. I don’t know what you think I am, but I’m not the guy you were hoping I was. I’m only doing this because you promised you’d leave me alone.” He laid the sceptre on the floor and removed his shirt then picked up the item again after wrapping it up. Although the chances of being spotted were low, he didn’t want to explain how he had come to find it. “We’re done, okay? You don’t contact me again. You don’t come near me. I’m not like you.” Before Bugsy could protest, Gary turned his back and sauntered off, not daring to look back.

* * *

Lance headed towards Samuel’s room, paying little interest to the guards or servants. He wasn’t interest in making conversation with anyone but his grandfather. Talking to Clair was supposed to have eased his mind, but nothing had changed. A marking on the back of his neck. Why had no one mentioned it to him?

“Ah, Lance, there you are.”

Samuel Oak’s voice. Lance came to an abrupt halt and turned around. “Samuel, how can I help you?”

The old man approached him. “Your grandfather has been searching for you. You know Clair’s wedding is fast approaching? Where have you been?”

Lance looked away for a moment then turned back. “I had to clear my mind. The past two weeks have been… strange.”

The man frowned. “Side effects from the potion you’ve been taking? I know I increased the dosage, but I hadn’t expected such a strong reaction. How have you been feeling? I should be able to make some adjustments to lessen the symptoms.”

“You have a lot of explaining to do, Samuel. We’re heading to your room.”

Although there were currently no other servants or guards in sight, he didn’t want to take the chance. A guard or servant could walk through the door at the wrong moment and overhear information they weren’t meant to here. Samuel sighed and nodded, retreating to his room. Lance followed swiftly, eager to solve the mystery behind his odd symptoms. His grandfather would have answers, but Samuel was a close friend of Edward and any information he knew would be helpful. Once they reached the room, Lance closed the door and stood in front of it, blocking the exit path.

“You have questions I presume?”

Lance nodded, folding his arms. “Several. I talked to Pryce. What are you hiding from me?”

The man sighed. “So, you’ve heard.”

“Why am I resistant to magic? Am I cursed?”

Samuel looked hesitant to speak, refusing to meet Lance’s eyes. “I’ve known ever since you were born, Lance. Your mother died during childbirth and you almost died yourself, but your grandfather made one last desperate move to keep you alive. A powerful curse was placed on you and I was asked to treat the symptoms as best as I could.”

His grandfather had lied. But why? Lance frowned. “So that’s why magic doesn’t work on me.” Curses were said to be more powerful than standard forms of magic. It would explain why Yellow’s elemental spell failed to work. But what explained the mark on the back of his neck? Was that just the mark of the curse?

“It’s why you heal faster than the standard person.”

“Grandfather despises magic, yet he allowed it to be used on me.”

Samuel nodded. “You would’ve died, Lance. Your father had disappeared, and your mother had died. He couldn’t lose you too. He wouldn’t survive your death. For once, he put aside his hatred of magic to save your life.”

“And why would he keep this hidden from me? All my life I’ve been told to hate magic. To distrust it. Yet he uses it on me without my knowledge.” Keep your friends close. Keep your enemies closer his grandfather had often said. Now he was only starting to make sense of it.

“He wanted you to a soldier, Lance. To be the military leader he could not be because of age.”

Lance moved away from the door, deep in thought. Fear magic. Hate magic. Execute mages. “What is wrong with me? Is moon sickness even a thing?” He paced back and forth, unable to stand still.

“You were born sick, Lance,” Samuel started slowly. “Pale. Ragged breathing. Even your heartbeat was weak. But Agatha… She saved your life. Cast a spell on you to protect you so you could become the man your grandfather wanted you to be.”

Raising an arm, Lance moved a hand to the back of his neck. “Is that what this mark is supposed to be? A symbol I have been cursed? Almost every day I suffer, Samuel.” Lance stopped moving and glared at the older man. “Some days are worse than others. Is this the life he envisioned? You know the people would never accept a weak leader.”

“I understand you are upset, but he couldn’t lose you.”

Lance forced a dry laugh. “I’ve spent my entire life admiring him… Following his commands and I never even questioned one. Up until now. I had to learn about my condition from a mage and a wolf you know. Don’t look so surprised. Peace never lasts.” He made a fist and slammed it into the wall. Any pain faded fast. “What happens to me when these potions lose their effectiveness altogether?”

“I don’t know.”

“Am I the only person with this problem?”

Samuel nodded. “That we know of, yes. You should talk to your grandfather,” he said, his features tense, as if he had shared too much information.

Again, he gave a bitter laugh. “He won’t talk to me about this. He doesn’t like talking about my parents, especially my father.” Falling silent, he thought hard. What sort of sickness did he gave that was so bad it had to be hidden at all costs? “Did… Did you know him well?”

“Your father? I met him once or twice. Interesting character.”

Lance studied his features. Still, the man did not want to meet his gaze, as if the conversation made him uneasy. “I was told he was a mercenary and that he left before I was even born. He didn’t care, did he? He just left.” An uneasy feeling gripped his stomach. “Is he even alive? Does he have what I have?”

“If he did, he hid it well. And if he’s alive… Well, he is a fighter. A survivor. He’d be out there somewhere in the wild, honing his craft. Don’t go looking for him, Lance. He abandoned you and your mother. He’s only trouble you don’t want to deal with.”

Edward always told him the man was dead. It was his way of avoiding discussing the topic further. For once in his life, he wanted to disobey the king. “He’s my father,” he replied, through clenched teeth. “Edward’s been keeping secrets from me. Even you. My father for all his flaws might be the only person who is willing to tell me the entire truth that no one else seems to be wanting to share.”

“Lance…”

“What?” he said heatedly, feeling a surge of anger rise within. A wave of embarrassment followed. Emotions cloud your judgement. A lesson his grandfather liked to reinforce. “I have some … disease that no one seems to understand fully, and I’ve just learned from you a curse was placed on me. My entire life I’ve been led to hate magic, yet magic is what has kept me alive all these years.”

His shoulders slumped. Once this castle had been a place where he felt most safe at and now it had become something else. A place of lies and secrecy by the people he trusted and admired the most. What was to become of his life now? How could he be loyal to the crown? Sweat broke out on his forehead.

“You would’ve died, Lance.”

“And maybe death would’ve better than the lie I’m living now!” Lance retorted, a sharp pain imploding in his head. He winced, squeezed his eyes shut then reopened them again, willing the pain to fade. “I just want answers, Samuel! Up until recently, I’ve been living inside a room with locked doors. Now they’re all opening for me, and I need to know what this is before I die to this sickness.”

Samuel sighed. “I would advise against it., but I know I can’t stop you.”

His anger subsided. “I need to know who I am.” Before Samuel could respond, Lance turned his back and walked out the door, drawing in a deep breath. There was no reason to stay. Samuel would probably tell his grandfather, but what could the old man do?

He never left the city without a direct order from the king, but his trust had been shaken. Now he had to serve his own interests before that of the kingdom’s if he ever hoped to learn the truth. 

* * *

Clair would’ve much preferred Lance’s company, but the man was busy. Benga was due to be arriving today, and Clair was forbidden from leaving the castle, as if Edward thought she would try to run away from the kingdom. The only person she had for company was her new slave, Lyra. The girl had put on a bit of weight, and colour had returned to her cheeks. She still didn’t see the need for the girl, but at least she had someone who could share the burden of married life.

“Where are you from?” Clair said. They were in her room awaiting the summons from the king. Rather than sit in silence, Clair decided she had to know something about the girl. After all, Lyra was now her personal maid. She needed someone who she felt familiar with in the Unovan castle.

“New Bark Town,” Lyra replied softly, carefully combing Clair’s hair.

“Never heard of that place before.”

“It is a small town.”

Clair rolled her eyes. “Obviously. I do know that bandits raided your home. That must have been exciting.” Not that she had an interest in Lyra. It just helped to pass the time. “Nothing happens in this city. Not for me anyway.” Even the commoners had a more exciting life. At least they had some freedom.

“Better it stays that way, my lady. Best you have peaceful nights.” Lyra continued to comb her hair, her movements slow, carefully trying to avoid any knots.

The girl was clearly referring to nightmares. Another thing Clair didn’t experience. What was there to be frightened of within the castle walls? “I want to live life to the fullest. To see the world. But I won’t get chance. Even you, a slave, has seen more of the world than I have,” she said, her tone laced with bitterness. “Now I am to be married off to a boring man.”

“Marriage is a wonderful union.”

Clair snorted. “What would you know? You are a slave, and you can’t be married to another person. Not that anyone would want to marry you. You have nothing to offer to a man.” Batting Lyra’s arm aside, Clair climbed to her feet. “Why couldn’t I marry Prince Steven instead, the prince from Hoenn? At least I’ve heard he is more exciting. Grandfather must want me to die of boredom.” She made an exasperated sigh.

Lyra put the comb down and removed it of hair. “He does what he thinks is best for you.”

“Not you too. Lance said the same thing. But of course, you could never understand. You’re not a princess. People think my life is all about wealth and power, yet they don’t understand my freedom is even less than a peasant. I’m a prisoner inside my own home.” She sat down on the edge of the bed and drew in a deep breath. Once again, she raised her hands to the amulet around her neck, seeking its warmth. Oddly, her muscles relaxed. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she said, glancing down. She turned to face Lyra so the slave could see it better.

“Yes, it is.”

Clair beamed her a smile. “I am the only woman who could afford such an item. One benefit of being a princess. It’s supposed to have belonged to the priests who used these to ward off evil spirits. Silly beliefs of course. But there’s something beautiful about something so old.” She tucked it under the dress then stood up once more.

“I can think of no finer jewelry for you.”

Clair nodded. “A treasure that matches my beauty. A rare thing.”

I need you to visit the stables and tend to my mare’s pen. The last servant boy made a mess of the job. As my personal maid, I expect you to handle your responsibilities with utmost care. The stable will be empty for cleaning. I will later have Ethan tell you how to clean a horse.” She gave Lyra a dismissive wave. “You are dismissed. Leave me be. Return to me the following morning.”

Lyra bowed. An odd gesture. Ladies did not bow. They curtsied. Clearly, such customs were not practiced in her town. That would need to change or risk having the slave make a fool of her. The girl left the room and once again Clair was on her own. Even Lyra had more freedom than her. A simple peasant girl.


	12. Horrors of the Past

Lance curled his fingers into a fist, then punched it forward, knuckles connecting with a sugar filled combat dummy. He winced, sharp plain imploding in his hand, but he swung another punch. Pain was a distraction. It kept other thoughts from invading his mind. He punched it again and again, each hit more satisfying than the last.

“What did that combat dummy do to deserve this?” a voice drawled.

Lance glanced over his shoulder and spotted a tall man with blond hair leaning against the door frame, dressed in silver chainmail, a long broadsword hanging off the right side of his thigh. He narrowed his eyes. Siebold. A foreigner from Kalos who had impressed his grandfather so much, the man had placed him in the inner circle of knights.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be on patrol?”

Siebold crossed his arms. “That’s a fine way to address a knight.”

Lance glowered. “If I was in charge of recruiting soldiers, I never would have recruited you.”

The knight placed a hand on his chest. “You wound me, Lance. I don’t know why you detest me so much. I never did anything to you.” The man walked over to the damaged combat dummy and examined it from head to toe. “Something on your mind?”

“Did you come here just to bother me, or was there something you needed?” Lance raised his sword and pointed the tip at Siebold. “Or perhaps you could spar with me? There are practice swords here.” He pointed to the weapons rack near the entrance.

Siebold snorted. “You want to fight me?”

“That’s the idea. Pick a sword. That’s an order.”

“Very well.” Siebold walked over to the weapons rack and picked up one of the longswords. He shifted the blade from hand to hand then gripped it with two hands. He swung the blade.

Lance parried the blow then kicked a leg forward, his foot connecting with Siebold’s right shin, forcing the man to stumble backwards. Whilst the knight recovered, Lance swung his sword again, the flat side of his blade connecting with Siebold’s own. The sword flew out of the man’s hands and clattered to the ground. Before the man could try to grab it, Lance placed his sword at the man’s exposed throat. “I guess I win that round.”

Siebold raised both hands. A submission of surrender. The fights always ended like this. One man on his knees admitting his surrender. It was hard to fight someone who could match him. It wasn’t as if he had a size advantage over anything, nor had he practiced more than the other knights – but for some reason, his attacks always hit much harder even if he wasn’t exerting as much as effort.

Lance withdrew his sword and returned it to its sheathe. Extending a hand towards Siebold, he said, “Don’t feel down. Any fight against me always ends up like this.”

Siebold took his hand and climbed to his feet. “Yet you wanted to spar with me regardless despite knowing the outcome. Did you do that just to mock me? I know you’re better – we all know it – but you don’t have to make fools of us all.” Once he was on his feet, he released his grip and stepped away to retrieve his sword. He returned the blade to the rack.

“You think I’m mocking you?”

“Yes.”

“If I wanted to mock you, I’d fight you in the public eye before an adoring crowd. That would be humiliation for you… All those people watching your defeat and cheering for your demise. But I’m not cruel.” He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his glance to the combat dummy once more. The head was another swing away from being sliced off though he could easily tear it off with his bare hands.

Siebold snorted. “I guess I should be thankful you spared me such an agonizing defeat. What I don’t understand is how you’re so much stronger than the rest of us. I don’t think the killing of a werewolf makes you stronger. If it does then perhaps I ought to seek one out myself.”

“Werewolves are not so easily killed,” Lance replied quickly. “The one I fought was nothing but a young wolf and inexperienced,” he added, recalling Brawley’s words. A wolf that had recently turned and had still been adjusting to his new life.

“Still, you killed a werewolf. How many other men can boast about that achievement?”

Lance frowned. “Do you think I’m proud of that moment?”

“Werewolves are abominations, Lance. You killed a monster. I’d be proud.”

Again, his thoughts shifted to Brawley at the lake. The man was well-spoken, and he looked like any other human. There was nothing monstrous about him at all. Deciding to change the topic, Lance added, “Is that why you came here? To congratulate me on something I did five years ago?”

Siebold sighed. “No. I came here to tell you the king wants to speak with you. He didn’t provide me any details – he just said find Lance and tell him to come and talk to me.”

Of course. The man probably wanted to remind him of the approaching wedding. “It’s probably something to do with the wedding.”

“Clair’s wedding,” Siebold said.

Lance nodded. “Yes.”

“I would accompany your cousin to Unova to see she arrives there safely.”

“You don’t need to too. Prince Benga’s guards will be there.”

“And you trust them?”

Lance nodded again. “Yes. Prince Benga seems like an honourable man.”

“Have you spoken to him?”

“I haven’t had the chance, but I tend to meet the man who is marrying my cousin before they depart.” The wedding celebrations would last several days. They would not leave immediately. He still had a few more days before Clair would be gone forever. Lyra would also be out of his reach. “Return to the quarters. Tell the other knights what is to be expected of them for the wedding. Everything must be perfect for Clair.”

“Shouldn’t you talk to them? You are our commander.”

“I’ve been summoned by the king, and knowing my grandfather, he likes tasks to be done with haste. If you want to impress me, then you’ll do as I ask. Am I clear?”

Siebold nodded. “Of course.” He bowed and took his leave.

Lance watched him retreat then shifted his attention to the combat dummy again. He could afford to spend a little more time. His grandfather could wait.

.

Morty could see the lower half of the mountain range looming in the distance, a thick blanket of cloud covering the peaks from his vision. The weather was fortunately quite cool thanks to a breeze from the south. A day had passed since they had departed for the sacred ruins, and their journey had taken them across an open field with a low number of trees in the area. In fact, he had only counted ten oak trees. A loud caw to his left made him look. A raven was sitting on a branch looking in his direction. There were no corpses in sight which meant this raven belonged to the cult. Naoko was in the area. Ravens were used as messengers.

“You’re not much of a conversationalist, are you?” Morty said, glancing over his shoulder looking at Falkner behind him. The man hadn’t spoken much since leaving the city. Morty assumed it was nerves. After all, he hadn’t left the safety of the walls before. This was his first time venturing out into the wilderness.

“Do you always talk so much?” Falkner countered.

Morty chuckled. “Oh, come on Falkner. I thought we were getting along fine earlier. Don’t be like this now. Talk to me. How are we ever going to get along if we never communicate? Didn’t we come to an understanding? You help me. I help you. You want to be acknowledged. I can get you there, but you have to communicate.”

Silence. Then, “How many men have you killed in your line of work?”

 _Ah, that was more like it_ , he thought. “Quite a few actually. I’m a mercenary after all. Well, was. It’s part of the job description. We get paid to kill people.”

“And you don’t have any regrets?”

Shaking his head, Morty answered, “No. It’s all I’ve ever known.”

“But how did you become a mercenary in the first place?”

He couldn’t quite tell his partner that he had been born into a necromancer cult. “Well, I told you earlier that children in my village are raised to be soldiers. We’re trained to be survivors and the best make it through the ranks. Those that don’t make it just keep raising children hoping the next one will make it.” Well. That was partially true. Some of them were killed and used as sacrifices instead. “I became a mercenary because that’s what I was good at.”

“I thought you were being prepared for the military.”

Good point. He cleared his throat. “Not everyone becomes a soldier. Sometimes you need scouts. Sometimes you need the people who will be in the front line, and sometimes you need people who can make gold to fund the costs.” Now that was a lie, but Falkner didn’t need to know that. He just hoped he sounded somewhat believable. “You and I are both quite alike, you know,” he started, giving Falkner an encouraging nod.

Raising an eyebrow, Falkner said, “How do you mean?”

“We’re both soldiers in a war fighting towards a common goal. We both want to be acknowledged for our efforts and we both want peace.” He wanted a promotion into the higher ranks, but Naoko seemed to think he hadn’t proven himself enough yet. Deciding to change the topic, he said, “I am curious. Have you got a woman? I don’t mean to pry, but I don’t know if soldiers in Blackthorn are allowed that luxury.”

“What?”

“I said have you got a wench at home?” he repeated.

Falkner shook his head again. “I don’t, but some soldiers have families to feed. It’s why they work this job – it’s the best paying one, so you can see why the commoners keep trying to join the army.”

Morty fell silent, then, “You live a very boring life,” he concluded.

“Well, what about you?”

Morty shook his head. “I was a mercenary. We were always on the move so there was no time for settling down, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t take a girl to our bed roll at night. Which of course could cause a few problems if the girl fell pregnant. Our leader… isn’t overly keen on outsiders. She sees them as an inferior species. You must be a member of our military to earn the right to reproduce. If you haven’t… Well. You end up in the Pits.”

Falkner lifted a questioning brow, “The Pits?”

Morty nodded then grinned. “Those who disobey an order are thrown into something called the Pits. It’s not a dungeon as the name might suggest; rather, it’s an underground maze of terrors.” All constructed by dark magic. The priests of the old used to have something similar – the traitors and the weak would be locked into a tomb and left to die. But the Pits gave the victim a chance to emerge if they were able to survive the monstrosities. “I don’t know anyone in my time that has gone through the experience; just the threat of the Pits existence ensures that we do our best to fulfil our duties, but surviving is possible. It’s a way to repent for your sins.”

Falkner screwed up his nose in disgust. “That sounds barbaric.”

“The most interesting about the Pits experience is that you can never predict what’s going to happen to you. Some are raped, others are dismembered... some are simply eaten alive on the spot,” Morty continued, ignoring Falkner’s comment. “Or that’s what the stories say anyway.”

“But won’t you be thrown into the Pits if they find you here serving a new leader?” He then narrowed his eyes. “Or is that why you are here? You’re just seeking refuge within our city walls for protection?

Falkner raised a good point. He was certainly perceptive. For a moment he thought Falkner was going to assume he was acting as an undercover spy. “You’re right. I’m hiding. I want a new home. I’m done with that life of always being constantly on the move. I want to put my skills to good use elsewhere and that’s why I am here.” He hoped he sounded convincing enough.

“…Right.”

Morty considered explaining his choices further but noticed there was a man on a horse in the near distance, descending the gentle hill slope. He wasn’t wearing the standard chainmail of the soldiers of Blackthorn, so he clearly wasn’t one of their own. His armour seemed to be made of animal hide which was commonly used by bandits used in their clothing. “…I’d love to continue discussing the matter with you, but it seems like we have company.” He appeared to be heading in the direction of the castle.

Jerking his head to the right, Morty brought Falkner’s attention to the man on the horse. There were two blades attached to his left thigh: a dagger and a long sword. Further evidence the man was a rogue mercenary. Why else would he be travelling alone with decent gear? But it wasn’t the blades that caught his interest – it was the large brown sacks hanging on each of the horse’s sides that interested him. If he was indeed a rogue mercenary, then he was probably carrying some coin.

Nudging Falkner gently in the ribs, Morty brought his attention to the horse and rider. “I hate to interrupt our deep and meaningful conversation, but it seems we have a reason to celebrate. I do not trust him.”

Falkner looked over and frowned. “He’s not one of ours.”

“Indeed.”

“And he’s not of Unova origins. Prince Benga’s entourage arrived earlier.”

“Then someone has heard of the royal wedding and they’re planning on disrupting it.”

Falkner raised an eyebrow. “You can’t be certain.”

“I wouldn’t trust any outsider. Besides, he’s carrying items. We could claim those items for ourselves… Could be coin. Could be something else. I say we take it. We could learn some information from him that could prove useful to our superiors.”

Falkner pointed to the horse. “How do we get him off? He could trample us down.”

That was a fair point, but fortunately the man hadn’t seen them yet. Morty planned to use that to his advantage. The man drew closer to their position. Upon closer inspection, Morty noticed the man was an elderly fellow. Even better.

The rider cantered over and stopped a several feet short. “Greetings, adventurer,” Morty said.

“Greetings yourself,” the man replied, his voice hoarse and tired. “How many days until Blackthorn?”

Morty turned to Falkner.

Falkner cleared his throat. “Another day. Just keep travelling in this direction and you’ll reach the gates.”

“What business have you there?” Morty said.

“I seek an audience with the king.”

Again, Morty looked at Falkner.

Falkner frowned. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the king is quite busy. There’s a royal wedding approaching.”

Why would a mercenary seek an audience with the king of Blackthorn? He didn’t look to be anyone of importance unless… He was planning on assassinating the king? Morty grimaced. Was someone else interfering with his role in Blackthorn? Naoko’s sisters didn’t always see eye to eye on tactics, and the longer this man talked, the more suspicious he became. Perhaps Naoko had lost confidence in him and had hired someone else.

“What’s in the bags?” Morty demanded.

The man looked down then up again. “Treasure.”

Morty gestured to the bags. “We’re patrolling soldiers of Blackthorn so if you want to seek entrance... You will have to tell us.”

“These are for the king’s eyes only. I am under strict orders.”

Morty pulled out his blades. Falkner did the same. “I insist.”

“Then I will refuse your request.” His horse reared on its hind legs and the mercenary withdrew his blade, his other hand gripping the reins. He charged.

Morty evaded to the left as the horse charged past as Falkner leaped to the opposite side and toppled over onto the grass. The mercenary turned his horse around prepared to charge again. Morty positioned himself behind the horse, hoping the man would keep his attention focused on Falkner. He didn’t mean to use the other man as bait, but if he hoped to use magic to control the battle, he had to make sure his companion didn’t notice. The mercenary was preoccupied with Falkner. Good.

Falkner had climbed back to his feet and was swinging his sword trying to parry the blows of his opponent. The mercenary seemed to have forgotten about him. Even better.

With the mercenary’s attention elsewhere, Morty brought the blade to his left wrist and made a small cut. A necessary sacrifice to strengthen his power. A weapon enhanced with blood magic always struck harder. Blood seeped from the wound, and he pressed his wrist against his sword. A few drops of blood was all that was needed. A faint red glow emanated from his weapon. With the weapon empowered, he surged forward and slashed the blade at the horse’s hind legs. The empowered weapon sliced through the tough bone. The horse screamed – a bloodcurdling sound – then collapsed, blood spilling out onto the grass beneath it. His rider fell off, his sword clattering to the ground. He tried to crawl over to the weapon, but the fall from his horse had left him winded.

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere,” Morty said, walking over to the man’s weapon. He placed his foot on the mercenary’s arm applying as much pressure as he could, enjoying the satisfied pained grunt escaping the man’s throat. “Pathetic really. I would’ve thought you’d be stronger than this, but you’re nothing but an old man past his time trying desperately to relive those moments of glory of your youth.”

Falkner looked on – clearly the man had never been in such a situation before. “…What do we do with him?”

The mercenary gasped. “…Who are you?”

“I used to be a mercenary like you but then I had a change of heart and now I serve the very king you are trying to harm.” He pulled his foot off then cut off the bags from the man’s fallen horse. He picked the first bag up and peered inside. As he had expected it was filled with gold coins. “You were trying to buy your way in and impress the king with gold, but he has no need for your riches.” The horse whimpered again. Deciding to put the horse out of its misery, Morty walked over and plunged his blade through its neck. Its death came quick.

The man grunted. “…The king must die. Zuki…”

“All men must die, but Edward lives another day.” Morty gripped his sword firmly then hovered the blade directly above the man’s chest. “But for you that day has come.”

“Wait!” Falkner exclaimed.

Morty brought the blade crashing down, the tip piercing the flesh. Blood spilled out of the wound as Morty withdrew the sword, the steel now coated in blood. Zuki had sent the man. But why? Did Naoko already know? He winced, glancing down at his wrist. There was always a price to pay when performing dark magic. Wounds would not heal without consuming the blood of another. The smaller the wound, the less he needed.

“Falkner, collect the bags.”

“Right.” The boy hastily walked over to the fallen horse and picked up the bags.

While the boy was distracted, Morty dropped to his knees, dipped a finger into the fallen warrior’s blood then brought it to his mouth, licking his finger clean. He looked down at his wrist again. Already, the wound had repaired itself. “How much coin?”

“A few hundred,” Falkner said. “They’re quite heavy.”

“Excellent.” Morty climbed to his feet and wiped the remaining blood on his clothes.

“He said the name Zuki. We should warn the king.”

Morty shook his head. “No.”

“But what if they try again? We’re supposed to defend the king.”

Morty glanced at him. “The man is dead. He poses no threat. This Zuki person…” Wouldn’t try again, but how was he going to convince Falkner of that? “…We don’t need to worry. I mean, he probably already knows about it anyway, or Lance does.”

“And how did you even kill that horse?”

“It got spooked by something. You know what horses are like.” He turned to examine Falkner’s face. The boy looked pale, as if he had been spooked by a ghost or something. “He was a bad person. Don’t feel bad for him.”

“How can you just… not care?” Falkner tore his gaze away from the body. “We can’t leave the corpse here. We should give him a proper burial.”

“We have just saved the king from an assassination attempt, and you want to show this man respect?” Morty grabbed one of the coin bags from Falkner and hoisted it over his right shoulder. “Let the ravens feast upon his remains.”

“We always bury the dead, even if they’re not one of our own.”

Morty sighed. “Fine. We’ll drag him to the ruins and bury him there.”

He picked up the man from his arms as Falkner picked him up the ankles. Truly a waste of time and effort, but the ruins weren’t too far away. Maybe it could be an offering to whatever god watched over the ruins.

.

Clair wished Lance were present. But she didn’t know where he was. She had been hoping he would be here to calm her nerves, but she couldn’t find him. He wasn’t with grandfather for the man was standing by her side. Had he been given a task to complete? Maybe grandfather had sent him away because he knew Lance would distract her.

They were waiting at the southern entrance of the castle. It was a long straight path that bypassed the herb garden and was reserved for important people only. Her grandfather wanted the royal prince to see the beauty of their castle rather than travel through the crowded streets. The day was simple. She would have to wait until her grandfather introduced her to Prince Benga and he would take her hand and escort her into his chariot. The prince would then ride the chariot around the perimeter of the castle following the path escorted by several of the best knights. This was supposed to allow them to have quality bonding time. Lance was supposed to be one of those knights.

There were eight knights ready to escort. Each knight wore a helm with a red feather which was said to represent the nobility and purity of a phoenix. The horses were white and like the knights they too wore armour and had a crest of red feathers around their necks. Clair was wearing the blue dress she had selected earlier much to her grandfather’s satisfaction.

The skies were clear. It seemed even the gods wanted this day to be special. Clair wasn’t a big believer in the gods – in fact, she never prayed before the altar nor took part in the offerings made by the temple workers – but she didn’t deny their existence either. She just chose not to involve herself in the affairs of the religious devout followers. It wasn’t as if the gods cared about her marriage to Prince Benga anyway so why should she care in return?

“Where is Lance?” Edward said, his voice low.

“I thought he would have been with you. It’s probably nothing. He’s not needed anyway.” Though it would have been nice to have his support.

If the man was bothered by Lance’s absence, then he didn’t show it. “Yes. You are right. The past few days have been eventful, and another day of a full moon approaches.”

Clair wanted to say more but was interrupted by the sound of a horn blowing.

“Ah, they have arrived,” Edward said, rolling his shoulders back.

The knights all faced one another their ceremonial lances held upright. Clair looked towards the direction of the horns. There was a single black chariot led by two brown work horses and flanked by four Unovan knights. The Prince was inside the carriage. Clair drew in a deep breath, her right-hand clutching at the amulet hidden under her dress. Today was the day she’d say goodbye to her freedom.

It seemed to take ages for the chariot to arrive, but it reached its destination parking directly before the line of Blackthorn knights. The chariot rider climbed off the chair and onto the ground and opened the door to the carriage. He held back the door and waited for Prince Benga to climb outside.

Clair looked ahead taking in the appearance of her future husband. He was a thin lean man with flaming orange hair and piercing blue eyes. Not her picture of an ideal man. Her thoughts shifted back to Gary Oak. At least he had a face worthy of a royal princess’s hand in marriage.

Prince Benga wore the traditional clothing for a prince unlike her cousin who preferred to wear the robes of a knight. Benga wore an embellished cloak and tunic which carried gold lacework and rich embroidery made of real gold. His olive trousers were held in place by a golden waistband. The coat of arms of the Unovan royal family was stitched onto the back of his cloak. The Blackthorns had a dragon to represent them whilst the Unovans had a moth to represent on their coat of arms.

“Greetings, young prince,” Edward said, walking towards the man. “Welcome to Blackthorn Castle. I trust your journey was an uneventful one?” He extended his hand.

Benga accepted the handshake. “Travel by land was uneventful, but the ship was certainly interesting. I’ve never seen so many sick men all at once before.” His eyes moved to Clair then shifted back to Edward. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person, King Edward.”

“And I to you.”

Shifting his gaze back to Clair again, Benga said, “You look beautiful, my lady.”

She forced a smile. “And you look handsome, my lord,” she replied. He didn’t really. The man was not attractive at all. He was too lean and his face too plain. It was hard to believe this man was even a prince. Weren’t princes usually handsome? But she knew she had to pretend to be interested in the man. Despite not even wanting the marriage, she didn’t want to disappoint her family by making a fool of herself. She had far too much pride. She held out her hand.

He walked over and brought his head to her head, planting a kiss against the skin. It was customary to be greeted by a prince in such a manner. “If I may, King Edward, I would like the princess to accompany me on a short ride around the perimeter.”

Edward nodded. “Of course.”

Benga turned to her again. “Please, I would like to invite you into my carriage,” he said, extending his hands towards.

Clair didn’t have a choice. She nodded. “Of course.” She didn’t look at her grandfather. Taking Benga’s hand, she allowed him to guide her to the carriage. His butler climbed on the seat and grabbed the reigns of the horse whilst Benga helped her inside. The seats were soft and made of cow leather. “It certainly is a fine day for a ride,” she said, peering out the open window, gazing up at the clear blue sky. The carriage started to move, and the knights took their positions. The prince’s royal guards led the way whilst the knights of Blackthorn stayed at the back end.

“Indeed. The weather is vastly different from Unova. Our skies are mostly grey until the summer months arrive, and our days are much shorter.” He looked at her face, his eyes dropping to her hand clutched around her amulet. “An important family heirloom?” he remarked.

“I bought it recently from a stall.” She pulled the amulet out to show him. It wasn’t as if she could hide it forever as her possessions would become his.

He brought his face close and studied the amulet. “Fascinating,” he mused.

She tried to read his expression but couldn’t quite make out what he was thinking. He didn’t look disturbed nor confused, but curious. “The woman said it belonged to the old priests.”

“I’ve seen such a symbol before,” he remarked, drawing back.

“Do you know what it means? The lady said it was supposed to protect the priests from the spirits of the dead.”

He nodded. “My grandfather has a word for it – blood magic. The priests of the ancient days used to sacrifice the living to protect themselves from the dead. No human rituals – just the sacrifice of animals. These animals were placed upon an altar and their hearts would be used for spells.”

Clair screwed her face up in disgust. She knew the old priests were barbaric, but she hadn’t given much thought in how they created their spells. “And they became the necromancers?”

“No, the necromancers came after Nathaniel and his companions arrived. They specialized magic based on skills. Some mages became adept at healing. Others had a talent for the elements. The last came from Unova. Blood magic is something that’s practiced in my hometown. Not to raise the dead, but to heal. This man took it one step forward. He wanted to cheat death itself. We cast him out of the kingdom, and he fled here,” Benga explained.

Clair looked at him with new interest. The man didn’t seem like much, but it was obvious he was a well-educated man who had clearly spent a lot of time reading old texts. For once, the rumours and storied were right. “You’ve read a lot of books.”

Benga gave a light-hearted chuckle. “My grandfather, King Alder, insists upon it. Wisdom is knowledge after all. You can’t be a wise king if you do not know about the world you live in. That’s what he always says. So, I read all I can especially about the origins of magic. History tends to repeat itself and I think it’s important to know how to deal with magic in case we are faced with it again.” He peered out the window briefly then turned back to her. “To be honest, I was never much of a fighter. I prefer to fight using words.”

“That is an odd thing to say.”

“Not all men like to fight with swords. War is not a pretty sight to behold. You watch hundreds of good men die all for a conflict that could be resolved if the leaders had shared words, but instead of seeking to come to a resolution, kings prefer to declare war. But at what cost? Lives are lost. Gold is spent. The economy suffers. These are all the beginning steps of a civilization crumbling. But enough of this talk about war and the past. Let’s look towards the future. A future in which wars will cease to exist.”

She nodded. She didn’t agree with his words – if men were able to think, conflict would always arise and not all arguments could be resolved in words. Only fools believed in world peace. She knew true peace could never be achieved and wars had to be fought. “That’s definitely a new way to look at the world,” she said. “A noble aspiration.”

Placing a hand on her shoulder gently, he said, “Together, we will bring peace to our lands so our future children and generations beyond them can live without the threat of war. You will make a fine queen and our two kingdoms will set an example for others to follow.” He removed his arm.

“Of course.”

Clair wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to retain her sanity. Yes, he was intelligent, and he had a unique perspective on the world, but his thinking was all wrong. Some people enjoyed war. Some people lived for the battle. He was a fool to think he could change human nature. She didn’t speak again, preferring to look outside the window instead, watching the grassy hills pass by. Benga seemed to think she was reflecting on his words and didn’t press further. One day Benga would see how wrong he was. War was inevitable.

.

“There! The ruins!” Falkner exclaimed, raising his hand, drawing Morty’s attention to their destination ahead.

Morty expected to see the remains of a few buildings about, but all he saw was a ring of white columns surrounding a grey altar and a few trees and bushes nearby. A couple of white doves sat perched on a branch, but they flew away when they noticed them. He approached the ring of columns.

“What happened here anyway?” Morty said.

“This used to be where the old church stood,” Falkner explained then looked down at the ground. “It was also a graveyard, and this is where the dead would be buried so they could be within Arceus’s reach. It was to protect them from evil spirits in the afterlife. If they were buried within Arceus’s light, they would join the Horned One in paradise.” The boy stepped into the ring and approached the altar.

“I’ll never understand the thinking of your people,” Morty murmured, walking towards the altar. Strangely, there was a singular piece of white cloth draped over the stone, as if it were still being used for ceremonial purposes. The altar even had four small unlit braziers in each of the four corners.

“That’s because you have no understanding of civilization.” Falkner kneeled before the altar, resting his elbows on the stone, and bowing his head in prayer. “Sacrifices would be made in Arceus’s honour. Usually animals, but sometimes people who wanted to die would offer themselves.”

“I never took Arceus as a sacrificial type of god.”

“If you were carrying an illness that could not be healed, you would offer yourself as a sacrifice.”

Morty raised an eyebrow. “That makes little sense.”

“They could escape their pain and join Arceus in the realm above,” Falkner explained, climbing to his feet once more, his back turned to Morty. “I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand. The healthy would kneel before the altar and confess their sins and ask for forgiveness. We were always encouraged to become better people.”

All nonsense in Morty’s eyes. Arceus didn’t do anything to save lives. In fact, he allowed death to spread, but his followers would probably try to justify that as part of some grand plan. Still, to humour himself, he kneeled before the altar and gripped the edges of the stone, closing his eyes and bowing his head in mock prayer. Nothing happened. Somewhat disappointed, he reopened his eyes and climbed to his feet.

“Your god is silent.”

“He does not answer to non-believers.”

Typical. Of course he didn’t. “Have you heard him speak?”

“Many times.”

“And this the life he wanted you to have?”

“We’re all here for a purpose – to serve Arceus whatever way he wishes.”

Morty rolled his eyes. “And what does Arceus want us to do now?”

“He wants you to step away from the altar.” A woman’s voice.

Both Morty and Falkner turned. Stepping out from behind the trees was a woman with teal-coloured hair, tied up in two side ponytails dressed in a white transparent robe with a golden sash around her waist. Cool blue eyes looked at him. “How long have you been watching us?” Morty said, keeping his gaze fixated on her face. She had youthful features – there were no wrinkles around her eyes and there was a rosy tint to her cheeks – but there was a hardness in her eyes that implied she had witnessed her fair share of battle and heartache.

“Adventurers always visit the ruins drawn by the promise of riches.”

“We were told to come here for a problem,” Falkner pointed out. “In the name of our king.”

The woman chuckled. “Edward Blackthorn? The man who betrayed his own family. No. I do not care for your loyalties. You being in service of him makes you an enemy of mine, and I will not allow his spirit to be disturbed.” She raised her hands to the sides and turned them up, so the palms were facing the sun. Flames emerged from her palms.

“A mage,” Falkner gasped.

Morty grimaced. “Mages die the same way.”

“Swords will not work here. So many have tried to loot the crypt. But I watch and protect.” She thrust her hands forward, sending forth balls of flame. Morty jumped to the side, narrowly missing a flame ball. It hit the altar and set the braziers alight. A small cloud of smoke rose into the air. A good way to draw attention. Unwanted attention. He climbed to his feet, withdrawing his sword.

The other ball of flame hit a column and the fireball disintegrated upon impact. “You seek to defile sacred land? Arceus himself watches over me, and he will not let you pass!” Again, she summoned another fireball. This one slammed Falkner in the chest, sending him flying backwards into the altar. The boy smacked his head against the stone and slumped to the ground, a deep groan escaping his throat. He then clutched his head before slipping into an unconscious state.

So much for Falkner being of any use. The boy was more bait than anything else. Morty shifted his attention away from the unconscious soldier and returned his gaze to the woman. She approached him and thrust her hands forward with the force of a powerful gust of wind. The invisible element slammed into his lower gut, almost knocking the wind out of him. He gasped, and clawed at the grass, clenching his teeth.

She kneeled beside him and lowered her head, whispering into his ear. “I sensed your evil before you even reached the place. It was almost as if I could feel the life around me die as you approached. Your friend will live, but you – You will not leave this place. You will be cleansed and offered as a sacrifice. Only then may your soul find peace in the realm above.”

“…Who are you?”

“Kris. I live to serve Arceus.” She then stood up and turned her back to him, walking over to Falkner’s unconscious form, bending over to pick up his sword.

His eyes stung. The smoke from the fire was thickening and limiting his visibility. Smoke had entered his lungs, restricting his ability to breathe properly. But she remained unaffected. Morty reached out for his sword, his fingers just managing to grasp the hilt. Fingers clasping around the hilt, he pulled the blade closer to him then pressed his palm into the sharp edge of the steel as forcefully as he could to pierce flesh.

Kris turned around again. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen one of your kind.”

Morty stood up. Blood spilled down his arm, coating it in crimson red. “Then you would know we are not so easily killed.” He swung an arm, his fist connecting with the side of her jaw. Not allowing her a chance to recover, Morty shoved her into a pillar, then pinned her against it. “How did you even know about me?”

“Arceus said you were coming.”

“Then you would know what is to come next.” Her mouth tightened. Perhaps Arceus hadn’t told her much at all. “How does it feel to believe in a god that wants you to die for him? A god that didn’t even protect the mages during the great war? I promise you – my people won’t make that mistake. The Phoenix will rise again.”

“You would have to be a fool to believe Arceus has not chosen a hero to represent him.”

Morty grimaced. “You’re lying.”

“You don’t believe in his power. Of course you think I’m lying.” She grinned. “Life is just a cycle. Light and darkness must co-exist much like the sun and the moon, and neither side will truly defeat the other. There must be a balance. Everything happens for a reason. That is Arceus’s plan. Kill me then. Open the door. That is why you are here. I see that now.”

Before she could speak another word, Morty rammed his sword into her stomach. She gasped in pain, her hands falling to the blade. He pushed it in deeper, watching the light fade from her eyes. He withdrew the sword then stepped back, allowing her to fall to the ground. He dropped his sword and fell to his knees, flipping the woman over onto her back.

A sudden weariness gripped him, the world starting to spin. He cast a quick glance at Falkner – the boy was still unconscious – then turned to Kris again, glancing down at the blood from her stomach. He leaned forward and brought his face close, then drank what he needed to repair his wound. Once he had taken his fill, he rolled over onto his stomach. The smoke had faded. Even the braziers had died. All were connected to her power. He closed his eyes.

There was little time for relaxation when he felt a tremor beneath him. Bolting upright, he looked around. There. The altar. Kris’s blood had reached the stone. Now cracks had appeared. He climbed to his feet and walked over to Falkner, pulling the man away from the breaking stone. The altar crumbled. When the dust had settled, he noticed a ladder leading into the underground. The doorway to some crypt.

“What closely guarded secret lives down here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I'm sad and desperate, but please feel free to drop a comment if you enjoy what you are reading!
> 
> Feedback goes a long way ^_^


	13. These Are Troubled Times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really important!
> 
> I have rewritten parts of HORRORS OF THE PAST (the previous chapter).
> 
> Strongly recommended that you re-read it for the two rewritten scenes otherwise this chapter will be a bit confusing!
> 
> Thanks to everyone reading this, and thanks for the comments!

It was amazing how much a person could change in a few short weeks. Edward Blackthorn was not the same man he had been during their talk about the necromancy threat. There were black bags beneath his eyes, and his face looked drained of energy, as if he had been struck down by a bad flu. His movements were slower, as if every movement required too much effort.

“Grandfather. You wanted to see me?”

The man turned around, dressed in his usual kingly attire. He held a golden goblet in his right hand. Every so often, he’d bring it to his mouth and drink a few sips of liquid. “Lance. You came. Please. Sit.” He gestured towards the chairs at the table. Slowly, the old man walked over and sat down, drawing in deep breaths.

“You do not look well,” Lance said.

Edward put the goblet down. “The past few weeks have not been easy.”

“You wanted this marriage.”

“It is the correct decision. A political union between our two great nations.” The man leaned back in his chair, drawing in yet another deep breath. “Samuel has informed me your dosage has been increased.”

“I’m fine.”

“But you’re not fine,” Edward said, looking at him squarely in the eyes.

“I’d be more concerned about yourself. When was the last time you had a decent sleep?”

“I did not summon you to talk about myself. We should be focused on the future.”

Lance scowled. “Right. The future. That’s all you care about but wait – that’s also a lie. You pretend to care about our lives, but you don’t. You took all choice away from Clair, and you’ve forced her to marry a boring man from a kingdom who openly supports magic. Yet you preach about your hatred of magic… But you had magic cast on me.”

Edward raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Rising to his feet, Lance pointed an accusing finger and said, “Don’t deny it!” he snapped. “I talked to Samuel Oak. He told me what you did. You didn’t want me to die so you convinced Agatha to place a spell on me to keep me alive! After everything you’ve said about magic, yet you have it used on me!”

The man raised his hands in a sign of submission. “I was not going to allow you to die.”

“And you hoped to hide this from me? For how long? Did you hope I would never find out?” Lance paced back and forth, unable to sit still and look at the man who had lied to him.

Edward pointed to the chair again. “Sit down.”

“You do not get to order me around,” Lance replied heatedly, throwing a glare in the man’s direction. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me – without question. I’ve supported you always. I’ve looked up to you. But how can I follow your orders when you tell lies? Don’t support the mages, you say. Fear magic. Hate magic. Hate the werewolves. Yet the only reason I’m alive is because of magic.”

Edward folded his arms. “You will not receive any answers if you continue to behave like a petulant child. I raised you to be a leader – I raised you to be a future _king._ Now sit down.” He pointed to the chair again.

Lance drew in a deep breath and sat down, folding his arms across his chest. How much had changed in a few short weeks. Once there had been a time he never would’ve imagined himself questioning Edward’s orders. “Why was I dying?”

“You had an illness that could not be treated with our herbs.”

“And my mother died – because of me.”

Edward looked down at his lap and nodded. “Yes, she did. It was not your fault.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want you to worry about your fitness to be a leader.”

Lance rolled his eyes and gave a dismissive snort. “But this will be a problem. It’s getting worse, and I can’t explain why. How are people supposed to believe in me if I can’t... If I’m not at full health. People expect strength from their leaders… Not weakness.” He leaned back in the chair and looked away. “The headaches are worse. I feel weak. Tired. And I don’t understand why. It’s worse around a full moon.”

“I am sorry that you experience this, Lance. I’ve tried to find ways to eliminate the symptoms, but nothing works. We’ve been trying for years, Samuel and I. Only Agatha had answers – all she could do was suppress it.”

Lance looked at him. “What do you mean suppress it?”

“This illness of yours. You were born with it. It’s a part of you who are.”

His thoughts shifted to the mark on his back. What had Lyra said? A crescent moon marking? And why was he not affected by magic? “I met a wild mage on the way to the Lake of Rage. She tried to cast a spell on me, but it did nothing to me. I don’t know who was more surprised – her or myself. But that wasn’t all – I met a wolf, Brawley at the lake.”

Edward frowned. “You met a wolf.”

“Yes.”

“And you did not kill him?”

“No. I saw no reason too.”

Edward’s gaze narrowed. “You never trust a wolf. You should’ve killed him.”

“He was giving me answers no one else could give me,” Lance replied curtly. “You. Samuel. Agatha. No one tells me anything. It was Lyra who noticed there was a strange marking on me. It was a wild mage who told me I was cursed. It was a wolf who had to tell me there’s magic on me. So, who am I to trust?”

“Do not talk to the wolves, Lance. They are abominations!” the man hissed.

The vehemence in his tone caught Lance by surprise. He was rarely angry – and he certainly never yelled. Still, Lance didn’t cower. “Why do you hate them so much? The wolves?” Brawley seemed well-mannered and not dangerous at all. He could’ve killed him if he had wanted too.

“The wolves are a threat, Lance.”

“That’s what you keep saying, but that doesn’t mean anything.” The man hated the wolves, yet he had never given a reason why. It was simply the wolves are not human and therefore not natural and thus should be avoided and feared at all costs. “What did you need me for?”

“I need you to visit Violet City after the wedding to escort the priest back home safely.”

“You can’t get anyone else to do that? Seems like such a simple task.”

“It’ll be good for you to visit a smaller city.”

Rather, it sounded like the man wanted Lance to stay away from the wedding celebrations, as if he thought Lance would embarrass himself in front of everyone. “I’ll leave the morning after the celebrations. I want to be there to celebrate the occasion with Clair, and you’re not going to convince me otherwise.”

“You may leave.”

Typical. Lance stood up and headed towards the exit without saying goodbye.

.

Gary had decided not to work the morning shift claiming illness. Tracey could handle himself anyway; the morning hours weren’t so busy as most people would be carrying out their usual daily duties. Besides, he couldn’t work – his mind was alight with Bugsy’s words from the previous day. The eccentric boy was a mage who somehow knew all about the Oaks. How long had the boy been spying on him and what else did he know? Unsettled by the recent event, Gary had chosen to remain in his bedroom.

Time alone meant he could study the golden sceptre he had retrieved. It was sitting under his pillow. He reached his right hand beneath it and picked it up then sat down on the bed. Its surface was warm to his touch, as if the ancient magic within it gave it life. “You caused me so much trouble,” he murmured, bringing his other hand to the ruby orb. “I hope you were worth it all.”

He lay down on the bed and held the sceptre in the same fashion as the priest had. He wanted to know what made the sceptre so important. Perhaps it was a foolish idea to play with something so dangerous, but how could he learn more about himself without experimenting a little? Closing his eyes shut, he brought his free hand to the sceptre and grasped it firmly, focusing his mind on the item itself. At first there was nothing. All he felt was a sense of foolishness. But soon the warmth in the sceptre transferred to his hands then slowly throughout his body, as if flame were enveloping him. Sweat broke out on his forehead, as the warmth spread. Soon, he was sweating all over.

A voice – which oddly sounded like his grandfather - told him to stop, but he clutched the sceptre as if it were giving him life. Not that he could move his hands if he wanted too – he couldn’t move them anyway. Now his clothes were damp from the sweat, but he held on, drawing in deep ragged breaths. He feared he’d boil alive, but his body remained intact. Forcing his eyes open, he was surprised to find himself no longer in his room but standing outside a white temple with columns so white, it was almost blinding to look at. His eyes soon adjusted, and he walked towards the temple.

_He stood outside the temple’s door, observing the people below. Hundreds, no thousands of people swarmed through the streets. He could see their faces clearly from his position. A man with dark hair and a crooked nose chatted to an elderly woman with a hunched back; a woman with long curled blonde hair and heavily weighted down by various forms of jewellery ushered her three children towards a market stall; two teenagers, a boy and girl, were locked in a tight embrace._

_He looked down at the robes he wore. They were white; the same attire the High Priests of the Old had worn. White was the colour of peace and joy. The buildings he had come to known in Blackthorn did not exist. There was no tavern. No public bathing area. He didn’t even see any mills in the farmlands. This was a time of the golden age of the High Priests and he was seeing through the eyes of his ancestors._

_“You’ve changed this place for the better, Nathaniel.”_

_He turned around. “Melinda,” he said, greeting his wife. One of the most stunningly beautiful women he had ever laid his eyes upon. Her dark curls fell down her back, stopping just before the base of her spine, and her dark eyes were full of mystery but also warmth and love. Her skin was a light bronze colour, darkened from much time spent in the sun. A child approached them. His name was Jorn, and he was standing behind his wife, tugging at her robes. He had inherited his looks, but he shared his mother’s personality. The boy was only seven._

_“Daddy,” he said, leaving his mother’s side and rushing to greet his father. Unsteady on his feet, Jorn tumbled and fell onto the ground. Melinda rushed over to help her son, but Jorn was determined to stand. He climbed back onto his feet and continued his walk towards him, wrapping his arms around his legs, holding them tightly._

_Grinning, he picked up his son. “This will all be yours one day,” he said. Jorn looked at him, a happy smile on his face. He reached out and pulled a strand of Nathaniel’s hair, fascinated._

_Melinda joined Nathaniel and stood beside him. “Do you remember what you once told me?”_

_“What was it?”_

_“You said change was impossible; that the people would not listen to you.”_

_Jorn stopped playing with Nathaniel’s hair and moved on to something more exciting – his nose. He poked it several times, amused by its funny shape. Melinda chuckled lightly, watching his antics. “He will be a capable ruler one day.”_

_Nathaniel set his son on the ground and sneezed. “A mischievous ruler,” he said, grinning. He cast his gaze sideways at her and looked down at her swelling, pregnant belly. “I can only hope our next child is not as mischievous.”_

_She grabbed his hand with her own, clasping it tightly. “He picks up on his father, I don’t have a mischievous gene at all,” she said, teasing him lightly._

_Nathaniel rolled his eyes, a grin plastered on his face. “Come inside my love, it is time to eat dinner.” Wrapping an arm around her slender waist, Nathaniel led his wife and son back into the safety confines of the dinner room. A room well-lit by candles surrounded a medium sized table with four chairs. Nathaniel led his wife to the opposite end chair, and he took his position on the other end. Jorn sat in between them eagerly looking at the table._

_Already the pottery dishes of food were present. Bread made from barley sat in the middle of the table next to two golden goblets of wine made from grapes. A vast range of fruits and vegetables decorated another pottery dish including melon, palm coconut and garlic. Animal products consisting of oxen and geese were placed on the right side of the bread. Nathaniel made his selection of food using his spoon._

_The family of three ate in peace trading stories about the events of the day when bloodcurdling screams echoed throughout the kingdom. He stood up from his chair. Melinda looked at him, eyes wide with fear. His eyes met hers. “Something is wrong, stay here where it is safe,” he ordered. “I’m going to investigate.” Melinda nodded._

_Jorn started to cry, watching his father leaving the room. “Daddy!”_

_He glanced back over his shoulder. “I’ll be back.” He left in silence, hurrying outside the temple to make sense of the screams. Was it possible? Had the other kingdoms heard about his magic? Had they come to investigate? Or worse, execute? Only a small percentage of people had magical blood running through their veins. He was the first to discover this power, and he had helped others understand it. But those who did not know magic feared it._

_As he rushed outside, another bloodcurdling scream was heard. The sky, once a clear blue, was now covered in dark shadow. Vines of shadow reached down from the sky, randomly grabbing people and pulling them back up into the sky. Nathaniel pulled out his sword and ran down the stairs to aid those he could help._

_“Nathaniel! What’s going on?!”_

_Nathaniel turned around and saw his best friend another high priest called Russell race towards him. “The shadows! They appeared out of nowhere!”_

_Another vine of shadow reached down and grabbed a mother. Unlike the other vines, she was crushed immediately. Her lifeless body dropped to the ground, ripped of all skin. Nathaniel felt his stomach twist. What was happening? “I don’t understand...” he muttered weakly, watching the destruction before him._

_“We need to get out of here.”_

_Nathaniel didn’t move. He was paralysed waist down. A woman raced towards him, holding her dress as she ran. As she neared the steps, a shadow knocked her off her feet. The woman landed on the edge of the steps with such force, her face was firmly planted in it. The shadow covered her and ripped away her flesh._

_“Oh Arceus...” Russell mumbled. He grabbed Nathaniel’s arm and urged him to flee. “We can’t stay here Nathaniel! We need to get inside the temple, now!”_

_Nathaniel didn’t need to be told twice. Life sprung back into his legs and he bolted in the safety of the temple. “There’s no way of escape,” he said, breathing heavily as another hapless victim screamed. He glanced over his shoulder and looked outside._ _His heart wept as his eyes took in the catastrophe that lay before. What was once a thriving, vibrant kingdom had been turned into a smouldering ruin._

_Thick black smoke caused by the burning of buildings and shadows blocking out the sun made the day feel like night. Hundreds, no thousands of innocent people lay unmoving on the ground encased by shadow. His stomach lurched, and he pried his eyes away from the sight. “We have to retreat while we still have a chance,” Russell said._

_Nathaniel struggled to think to focus on the task at hand, but try as he might, no plan came to mind. All he could think of was the growing number of corpses lying on the sand, staining it with their blood. No... his blood. They were his people! He was responsible for them. “I can’t... I don’t...” he mumbled, closing his eyes shut._

_“Now is not the time to mourn Nathaniel; your family still lives, right? You can still save them.”_

_Melinda. Jorn. His unborn child. Opening his eyes, Nathaniel nodded sternly. He didn’t utter another word and ran in the opposite direction, Russell close behind him. Soon, he stopped at a room. In the far corner, his wife and son cowered. “We have to leave while we still can,” Nathaniel said, assisting Melinda from the ground._

_There were tears in her eyes. “Where are we going to go? How can we possibly outrun the shadows?” she whispered._

_“We need to try. We must make our way towards the back door!” Nathaniel ordered._

_“I’ll try and help the others, get out of here Nathaniel!” Russell said, turning his back and running out into the open. Nathaniel didn’t try to stop him. His priority rested in saving his family from death. As they made their way towards a secret back exit, a figure appeared before him. It stepped out of the darkness._

_Nathaniel’s jaw dropped as the shadows cleared, allowing him a clear view of the figure dressed all in black cloak with a strange eye pattern, and the face was concealed by a hood. The hood was pulled back revealing the face of a middle-aged man. His eyes were red, and his hair a sickly pale green colour. His skin was ashen pale, almost as if he were death himself. There were two yellow bracelets on his left arm, but he wasn’t sure what they were meant to symbolize. Lastly, he noticed the staff in his left hand._

_He knew the man. Ghetsis. That’s what he called himself. He was one of them one; one of his students, but the man had left the city when a strange illness befell him. Rather than seek help from the greatest minds, he thought he’d find answers elsewhere. He thought he could use his magic for other means. “Well, we meet again, Nathaniel. It’s certainly been awhile. You look well,” he mocked, his tone laced with thick sarcasm._

_Nathaniel backed away, his arms protectively shielding Melinda and Jorn. He noted the yellow skin on the man’s right hand. Infection had rendered his right arm useless. The sickness that had claimed him from a young age had spread. No one had a name for it. It seemed to turn the flesh yellow and paralyse the arm from the shoulder downwards. “Did you find your answers?”_

_“Indeed. I can be reborn. We all can be. I just need one more ingredient.”_

_He eyed the shadows flying around. They were just black smoke clouds with tails. “What are these?”_

_“Ah, yes, my newest creation. My shadow beasts. Restless spirits of the dead.”_

_“Necromancy.” The forbidden black art._

_“If that is what we must call it… Yes. Power over the dead. To raise the spirits and give them new life,” Ghetsis replied, raising his left hand. “To be reborn again. The dead will rise, and I will have my army.”_

_“To what end?”_

_Ghetsis sneered. “We would never have to worry about sickness and disease again. We can die but be reborn and made anew. A second chance. A third chance. And so forth. Imagine that. We would never have to fear death and I am so close to finishing it.”_

_“You’re upsetting the balance, Ghetsis. Death needs to happen. People, animals, trees… they are born to replace the dead. You’re trying to remake the wheel – you’re trying to be Arceus himself.” He wanted to be a god and have control over life and death itself. It seemed his sickness prompted him to seek out greater power. Did he hope to die and be reborn illness free? “Why are you doing this?”_

_“It’ll be a better world. People like us… We could be gods.”_

_“I don’t want to be a god. This power we have… I use it to help people.”_

_Ghetsis snickered. “Really? Is that what you tell yourself?” His voice lowered, mirth fading from his eyes. “They hate us you know. They fear our magic. Why try to help these people when we could rule over them? This power we have. It’s a blessing. Our right to rule over the weak.”_

_Nathaniel shook his head. “No, you’re wrong. We’re here to help. Magic can be used for a force of good.”_

_“You call using blood good magic?”_

_“Our own blood. I don’t take lives.”_

_“One day you will. When you see the world before you crumble, you’ll be forced to take action.”_

_He shook his head again. “I’m not you.”_

_“Well. That’s a disappointment, but fortunate for me at the same time.” He clicked his finger, and a ball of shadow flew into the temple’s roof shattering it into hundreds of smaller pieces. The ground shook violently from the impact. “You refuse to take full advantage of the power we have. You’ll die here and be forgotten. But I will be reborn. I gave you a chance to join me, but you refused. Now you’re no use to me.” He reached a hand into his robes and fished a hand inside then pulled it back out, revealing a curved golden dagger with a red hilt._

_Nathaniel’s eyes widened. “You...”_

_“A sacrifice. That’s all I need, and my resurrection will be complete.” He stretched out a hand, turned it towards Nathaniel and flicked it right. With overpowering force, Nathaniel was lifted from his feet and flung across the room. His back encountered a wall then fell onto the ground. He groaned and struggled to stand but the force of the throw had drained him of energy. He turned his head weakly to the side._

_Ghetsis used his power to throw Melinda and Jorn onto the floor and used the shadows to bind them. With the dagger in his hand, he advanced towards Melinda and Jorn, pointing the weapon at them. Nathaniel tried to scream, but no sound came out. A river of tears streamed down his cheeks. “Nathaniel!” Melinda screamed, thrashing wildly against the shadows to free herself. “Nathaniel!”_

_“Daddy!” Jorn shouted._

_“No... please... have mercy...” His voice returned, but his legs refused to move. He watched helplessly as the man raised the dagger high above his head. Shadows encircled the dagger eagerly, as if dancing with joy. Suddenly, the man brought the dagger down, throwing it into the heart of Jorn. The shadows dived into Jorn’s dying body. “Jorn!”_

The vision ended. Gary jolted upright on his bed, his heart hammering as if he had just run a marathon, body covered in sweat still. He then yelped, the sceptre burning so hot, it was like he was touching fire itself. The item fell from his hands and onto the ground. Gasping, he glanced down, unsure of whether to try and touch it again. “What was that?”

No answer, but it was obvious. Memories. Memories of the priest. His ancestor, Nathaniel, the one who started it all. Somehow, the sceptre had allowed him to see the memories of the man, and it felt real. He _was_ Nathaniel. He was seeing the world through the man’s eyes. But what did it all mean? His mind scrambled to make sense of it all.

“So, the shadows were controlled by the man called Ghetsis,” he said aloud, as if that would somehow make it easier to comprehend. “He was a priest. Like Nathaniel, but there was something different about him in mind and body. He was… dying… And he sought to find a way to cure himself from his affliction. That’s how necromancy came to be then. But how exactly?” The memories didn’t show him.

Was this why Bugsy wanted him to obtain this sceptre? Because it gave him access to the memories of the dead? If he investigated the mind of his ancestor further what other secrets would he find? How exactly had Ghetsis died? How had Nathaniel died?

A metallic taste running down the back of his throat interrupted his thoughts. Immediately, he brought a hand to his nose, feeling the warm liquid of blood up against his fingers. _Great,_ he thought sourly. _Side effects_ , he added as a bitter after thought. Laying down on the bed again, he pinched his nose, his head hanging over the side, chin pointing upwards. They did have herbal potions to deal with bleeding noses, but this method was faster. The only downside is that he felt a bit light-headed afterwards.

After a few moments, the blood clotted, and he was able to sit up right again. “I wonder what my grandfather knows… If he even knows anything at all,” he murmured.

The sceptre had to be hidden away somewhere. It should’ve stayed in the tomb. But Bugsy had persuaded him. Had this been a big mistake? A dark cloud hung above him, a heavy weight pushing down on his shoulders. What if Bugsy was a spy? He had to tell someone. But who? Lance? He didn’t have any power here. He put the sceptre under his pillow and lay back down, gazing up at the ceiling.

What mess had he gotten himself into now?

.

The tavern was often described as the place of foolishness and gossip. It wasn’t a place Lance often visited - he didn’t drink or indulge in the gossip the peasants seemed to delight in, but he wanted to be somewhere other than the castle. Clair would probably be with her husband and he didn’t want to intrude, and Lyra would be busy. So, he had no other place to be in, but unfortunately his wish to blend in with the environment didn’t work. The other peasants certainly noticed him – perhaps that is why the tables around him were empty – he caught them glancing in his direction, but no one dared to approach. Again, he was alone. A new feeling that he would have to become accustomed to soon.

Propping his elbows on the table, he brought his hand to his head, squeezing his eyes shut and drew a sharp intake of breath. He held his position for a few moments before opening them again and found himself looking at a now occupied seat. A man sat across from him, a familiar face. Bruno, except it wasn’t the same Bruno that had left the kingdom several weeks ago. He now had a vertical scar down his right cheek, and he noticed a part of his left earlobe missing.

“What happened to you?”

“Some of the guards from Goldenrod recognized me. They attacked. I did fight them off, but things happened.”

Goldenrod City, the place where you could trust no one. “Did you have a change of heart?” Lance said. “I thought you weren’t coming back.”

“What? Did the others notice I’ve been absent?”

Lance shook his head. “Perhaps… perhaps not. I don’t have much contact with the common soldiers - only with the knights and even then, communication is minimal at most.” His most recent task was simply sorting out the wolf problem at Mahogany Town and that had been a solo trip. His other adventures consisted of talking to Samuel Oak and chatting to Lyra. A dull month by his usual standards in terms of action. “Why are you here? What happened to your face?”

Bruno touched his ear. “I’m living in Olivine City with Lorelei. We were planning on boarding a ship and travelling to the Sevii Islands, but the pirates have come. Lorelei… Lorelei has been taken captive along with a number of other women.”

“Let me guess. You want my help because no one else will help you.”

“You wouldn’t say no, would you?”

“Well, I have to go to Violet City anyway to escort the priest back home after the wedding.”

Bruno nodded. “The king’s orders?”

“Yes.”

“Seems like a simple task.”

“Yes.” He had every right to reject Bruno’s offer. He should leave Bruno to fend for his own – after all, the man had abandoned his service to the king. But he couldn’t say no especially since the pirates had taken hostages. Innocent people he swore to protect. “I’ll be there the day after the wedding. It’s only a few hours ride from Blackthorn. Where should I meet you?”

“Do you remember the old weeping willow tree that sits alone atop a hill overlooking the city? I killed my first man and we buried him near that tree,” Bruno said. “You were there to witness the moment.”

Lance remembered. Bruno had just finished his training. He showed enough promise and Lance had been asked to take him out into the fields to deal with a spy. “I remember. You didn’t even show any remorse for your actions. Some soldiers struggle to cope after making their first kill, but not you. Grandfather had asked you to join the ranks of the knights, but you said no.”

“And yet we remained friends.”

“I was there to witness your first kill. I felt responsible.”

“Even though I’m older than you.”

By a few years at the most. “Well, you had been caught trying to steal a chicken, so you either faced punishment or become a soldier instead and serve the king. Your choices were pretty limited,” Lance replied. “You obviously chose the right one.”

“That I did.”

“But helping you will come at a cost.”

“Anything. What do you need?”

“I want to see the werewolves again. There’s an alpha called Brawley.”

Bruno frowned. “You want to meet the alpha? Why?

“He seems to know…” He hesitated, stopping just short of talking about the mark on his neck. Bruno didn’t need to know. Not yet. “…About this necromancy stuff,” he finished.

“Still curious to know more about this, I see.” A tall man with black hair and a lean frame walked over to the table carrying a mug of ale. He set it down on the table and nodded at them both before turning to walk away. Bruno turned back to Lance, wrapping his fingers around the handle. He brought it to his lips, took a sip then put it down again. “You don’t drink do you?”

Lance shook his head. “Grandfather says drinking poisons the mind.”

“You’re missing out on something special.” He took another swig then wiped his mouth using the back of his left hand. “But back to what I saying. This necromancy stuff. It leads down a dangerous road, Lance.”

“And I need to know. I can’t sleep not knowing. If there’s something out there threatening this kingdom, I need to fix it,” Lance replied, frowning as Bruno continued to drink. He never understood the fascination with drinking. It all seemed like a waste of time to him. Where was the fun in waking up the next morning with a massive headache? “This wolf seemed to know a fair bit.”

“But you don’t know where to find him.”

“Last I saw him was at the cave near the Lake of Rage. You’re the best at tracking.”

Bruno sighed, putting his drink down. “That doesn’t include tracking werewolves, but Lorelei could help. Can you trust this wolf even? What if it’s an ambush? You’re planning on entering the heart of werewolf territory. What if they hold you for ransom or worse, kill you? Is it worth the risk just to learn about the necromancers?” Bruno said. He picked up his mug of ale again and drank the remaining contents.

“The last few weeks have been… puzzling at the most. I need answers, and no one here will give them to me. I ran into a mage on the way to the Lake of Rage. She attacked me, and nothing happened. I’m immune to magic, Bruno, and I don’t know why,” Lance explained, placing his elbows on the edge of the table, and leaning forward. “Samuel told me a spell was placed upon me the day I was born to keep me alive,” he added in a quieter tone.

Bruno frowned. “And you think the wolves have answers.”

“They’re creatures of magic. My grandfather won’t tell me anything. Samuel seems sworn to silence on the matter too, and I have no idea where Agatha is. The werewolves are my last hope.”

“And if your grandfather finds out?”

“He’s already warned me against seeing the wolves, but I’m willing to take that risk to learn the truth.”

Bruno sighed, rubbing his temples. “When I said to start thinking for yourself, I didn’t mean tracking down werewolves. Maybe your grandfather is right this time.”

“Then it’s settled. I help you with these bandits and you help me find the werewolves.”

“Indeed.”

Lance stood up. “I will see you at the tree then.”

“That you will.”

Bruno remained at his chair. Lance assumed the man would probably have a few more drinks to relax whilst he still had the chance. There probably wasn’t much fine ale outside the city walls. Lance said his farewells then exited the tavern.

.

Brawley returned to the wolf’s den located near the circle of dead trees deep in the woodland. The trip to the Lake of Rage had proven to be a successful one. Lance had arrived as he had hoped, and his suspicions had been confirmed. One of the wolves stepped forward. The boy had burgundy-coloured hair and always seemed to be annoyed as he always seemed to be scowling about something.

“What is it, Roark?”

Roark approached him then pointed a finger. “It was a risk venturing so far away from home. Heading to the Lake of Rage of all places. That place is popular with the peasants. What if someone other than Lance had seen you? We didn’t flee to Johto-Kanto to encounter more trouble,” Roark said, lowering his arm. The other wolves nodded. “I lost my father in Sinnoh. I don’t want to lose you too. You’re our alpha.”

“I understand your concerns, and your loyalty is appreciated, but I had to be certain.”

“To be certain of what? That Lance is the one that killed our youngest brother?”

“He’s sick,” Brawley noted. “I could smell the magic on him. I let him walk free.”

His words were met with raised eyebrows and surprised looks. “You let him walk?” a wolf stated, his thick, dark brows furrowed. “He’s an enemy to our kind, Brawley! He killed one of our own!” Other wolves started to voice their complaints.

Brawley raised his hands, calling for silence. “I’ve exchanged words with him, and the poor fool is blinded by the truth. He’s a soldier. An obedient one. He does what is asked of him. But he’s sick. I could smell it on him. He’s dying. Slowly. And this magic is the only thing that keeps him alive, but it will weaken in time.”

Roark raised a brow. “Dying? How so? Like a disease? Isn’t that a good thing?”

A man with a crooked nose and a black crest for hair stepped forward. “He’s not one of us, Brawley. You should’ve put him out of his misery and killed him!”

Brawley growled, and Sidney stepped back. “I am your alpha. I make the decisions. My decisions have kept us alive.” No other wolf dared to speak. Taking their silence as encouragement to continue, Brawley added, “It’s a spell unlike anything I’ve seen before. Powerful. It keeps him alive, but magic has a limit.”

“What sort of magic?”

“A binding spell. Designed to contain his true nature.”

“So, you still think he’s one of us?” Sidney replied.

Roark made a dismissive gesture. “Now that would be a scandal.”

“I found a dead mage not too far from the lake. Same direction Lance would’ve come from. A recent kill too.”

“So, he could be a faerie,” Sidney said.

“Don’t be stupid, Sidney,” Roark snapped. “No faeries have been spotted since Henry Blackthorn’s time.”

Scowling, Sidney made a fist and said, “They exist, and they show up when there’s a major threat to the balance of this world. We’ve seen the signs of necromancy. It’s starting again. The cycle. The prophecy about the sun and the moon. You know, the one about the Lightbringer, the one who will drive back the shadow?”

Brawley shook his head. “He’s not a faerie. He’s something else.”

“And we’re back to assuming Lance is a wolf too,” Sidney remarked. Some wolves sniggered.

“A mage can kill any man,” Brawley said, ignoring their laughter. “But a mage’s elemental powers do not harm wolves. We are far more resistant than any common man. There were no markings on him when he arrived. Unscathed.”

“Maybe he caught her off guard, and killed her before she could’ve done anything,” Roark said.

Shaking his head once more, Brawley said, “Mages aren’t so easy to sneak up on especially not in the forest. Every step you take, you risk stepping on a twig or walking across crumped leaves. She would’ve heard him approaching. He stabbed her through the stomach. He never would’ve attacked had she not struck first.”

“You can’t be certain of that,” Sidney said.

“He didn’t attack me on sight. He prefers to listen first. Only a fool strikes blindly.”

“That’s still not enough evidence he’s a wolf,” Roark said. Some of the wolves exchanged concerned looks. “He would’ve triggered his curse a long time ago if that had been the case.”

“But a binding spell contains evil,” Brawley replied. “Or what is presumed to be unnatural. It would make perfect sense. The binding curse on him… It’s to stop something from getting out. That would mean his grandfather knew and ordered a powerful mage to place a curse on him to stop him from turning into a wolf. As you said, it would be scandalous to have a wolf running amok in the royal family.” It would explain why he displayed no wounds from the mage’s attack. Werewolves healed quickly.

“If he’s actually a werewolf does that mean we can’t harm him?” Sidney said.

The wolves were still expecting retribution for the death of one of their own even after all these years. A grudge wasn’t dropped until the issue was resolved. Brawley shook his head. “We can’t kill him. The consequences would be far too great. Rather, I intend to help him learn the truth. Discover his true origins.”

“That’s too dangerous,” another wolf said. “We’re not immortal.”

“How can he even be trusted? I say let him die,” Roark spat.

Several heads nodded.

“Even if he is one of us by blood, it doesn’t mean he’s truly part of the pack,” Sidney added.

Brawley gave the wolves a stern look. “The prophecy will come to light once more. History repeats itself, and we’ve all seen the signs. He could be our only chance of being accepted into this world again – isn’t that what we want? To feel human. Not to be living in the forest like animals forever. I need you to trust in me – can you?”

One by one they dropped to their knees and bowed their heads in a sign of respect and agreement.

.

Falkner was still unconscious, but Morty didn’t want to wait for the boy to wake up. He descended the ladder, venturing into the pit of darkness. He wished he were a mage with the ability to conjure flame, but such abilities were absent for necromancers. There were only two sources of light – one coming from the hole above, and two small torch braziers ahead that appeared to be fuelled by magic. There was no telling how long the doorway had been covered, so how else would the flames continue to burn?

He walked towards the tiny sources of light and grabbed a brazier off the wall, holding it before his face, moving it from side to side to light the path ahead. There. A coffin of some sort. He approached it and looked down, running his fingers across the cool surface with his free hand. Strange runes marked the mahogany-coloured wood. They were symbols he could not decipher. Something old. Infused with magic perhaps. He placed the torch in the empty wall brazier ahead, then attempted to push the lid off the coffin. It didn’t budge. Magic had sealed it.

“Why can things never be easy…” he murmured, pulling out his sword. He climbed on top of the coffin then plunged the sword down onto the wood. At first, he made a small dent. He tried again applying more force. This time, he broke through the wood. Satisfied, he climbed off, laying his sword down beside him, then carefully pulled apart the broken pieces.

Soon enough, he was able to peer inside. There was a well-kept corpse of a man in the box wearing a golden crown, and both his hands were clasping a golden sword. The burial place of a fallen and forgotten king. Henry Blackthorn was the first that came to mind. He was known throughout the lands as the king who had perished to poison. “A golden sword. Fascinating.”

He reached down inside and pried the man’s hands away from the sword, careful not to break anything. Whoever had buried the man had done an excellent job in preserving the body. Even in death, kings were treated above everyone else. Most people didn’t even get buried in a box but were thrown into the ground and left to become one with the soil. He pulled the longsword out and held it before him, the sword seeming to emit a faint aura of light. It was surprisingly light for its size. “The sword that slayed the dragonite,” Morty murmured. He put the sword away in his sheathe thankful that it fit. He picked up his other sword and placed it in the coffin with the corpse. “It’s not quite the same, but what use is a fancy sword for a dead man?”

He returned to the ladder and ascended it. He stood up and dusted himself off the dirt and look around once more. Falkner was still on the ground, unmoving. As tempting as it was to leave without Falkner, he knew that would just create more questions and make things more difficult. He had to wait for the boy to wake up.

“Morty.”

A female voice. It hadn’t come from the mage. She was clearly dead. No. It had come from somewhere else. He turned around and spotted a woman in a green dress walking towards him, her black hair tied up in a bun. “Naoko. How did you even know I was here? I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

“I’ve talked with N.”

“It’s going to take me time to find these three relics.”

“I understand.” She walked back and forwards, stopping before Falkner. She peered down at the man, frowned, then turned back to Morty. “What do you know? Tell me everything you’ve learned about Blackthorn.”

Morty folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve joined the military under the command of Chuck. I haven’t met Lance yet, but I have seen Clair. She’s marrying some Unovan prince called Benga sometime this week. I also met a servant girl. Sabrina. She’s an oracle. Can you believe that? I’ve talked to her. She’s inexperienced. Her visions make little sense, but nothing that points to us.”

Naoko didn’t seem concerned. “If she’s a servant girl, then no one else would care for her words. What I am concerned about is this marriage – you cannot lose sight of the royal family. They must remain within our reach. Do whatever you must to ensure she does not leave the castle’s walls.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“Whatever you must,” she repeated.

He nodded. “Have I failed you before? No.”

“I know you will succeed,” Naoko said, placing her hands on his shoulders. “Because you are my best. My champion. No one else can rise to the challenge. Those three relics – the sceptre, the amulet, and the ring – must be found. You’ll know what they are when you see them. Ancient items.” She removed her hands.

“Oh. Zuki sent a friend to assassinate the king.”

“I know. She told me she was planning on doing things her way.”

He frowned. “The man’s dead. I trust you have control over the situation?”

“Let me worry about my own sister, and you just focus on your task,” she replied wryly.

He could never tell what was going on in her mind. She was excellent at not revealing her thoughts. “Very well. I’ll continue my work the,” he replied, then cast a look at Falkner. “As soon as this fool is conscious.”

“Return home when we obtain the relics.” Naoko turned away and walked down the slope.

When she was out of hearing range, Morty kneeled besides Falkner. “You’re not a bad person Falkner. A fool of a man, sure, but like you I have orders. We’re both soldiers in a war on different sides fighting for a common goal – absolute power. I just have to use you and your people to help bring mine closer to that goal.”

He didn’t say another word. Falkner showed no signs of awakening just yet. Morty lay down on the ground, placing his hands behind his head, as he stared up at the sky. Thick clouds billowed were building in the horizon. In a few hours, the storm would come.

.

“How are you finding your duties?” Sheila said, entering the dining area, laying a plate on the table. A single slice of bread with some cheese and grapes. There was also a small cup of water.

Lyra had returned to the castle servants building on Clair’s orders. The woman was an odd one – sometimes she seemed kind-hearted, and other times she seemed to be in a bad mood. Lyra wasn’t sure how to respond to Clair’s words – it almost seemed as if the woman were intentionally trying to test her to see what comments she would receive. “Fine. I haven’t been asked to do anything too far outside my comfort zone.”

Except for sharing a bath with Lance. That had been awkward, especially when she had noticed the odd marking on the back of his neck. She hadn’t crossed paths with him since. Had her actions put a wall between them?

“It’ll become easier in due time.”

Lyra took a bite out of her bread. After she had finished swallowing, she said, “I’m moving to Unova with Clair and her future husband, Prince Benga. I’ve only just started to settle in Blackthorn life, and then I have to move again.”

“Truth be told, I wasn’t expecting such a quick wedding,” Sheila said, taking the opposite seat to Lyra. “But we aren’t getting any younger, and Clair’s recently turned twenty-one. Most princesses marry much younger to men much older. I would consider Clair quite lucky considering the circumstances.”

“Ethan showed me the tavern a few days ago.”

“And your head was filled with mindless gossip?”

Lyra shook her head. “No. Gary talked to us briefly about the conflict between the king of Blackthorn and the mages. The mages and Blackthorn were once united though. What pulled them apart?”

Sheila sighed, pushing back a loose strand of hair behind her left ear. “I really shouldn’t be telling you any of this, but since you’re leaving soon… Gary never told you about the faeries, did he?”

“The _wha_ t?”

“The faeries,” Sheila repeated, as if that would help. “Most people do not believe in faeries, nor is there much history recorded about them. But they are said to be divine folk, descendants of Arceus himself. It’s believed a faerie will emerge in times of darkness because only their light can fight the shadow.”

 _Faeries,_ Lyra thought. Werewolves and mages were one thing, but faeries too? “How do you know about them?”

“Because my father fought in the war, and he passed the story down to me. Shortly after the priesthood had been formed, a man called Henry arrived whom believed it was his destiny to become king. His family had been living on this land for generations and Blackthorn had been their home until a dragonite had decided to take the city. The Blackthorns had been driven out of the home and lived in the mountains until Henry received a vision from on oracle.”

“And he felt inspired by that vision and came here to slay the dragon?” Lyra said.

The woman nodded. “Henry had made friends with a man called Joseph. Together, they forged a weapon that could slay the strongest of dragons, infused with divine might. The dragonite was defeated, and Blackthorn City was returned to its rightful owners. Henry declared himself king, and Joseph was appointed his right-hand man.”

“Joseph was a faerie.”

Sheila nodded. “Yes, and his magic could enchant any weapon that could slay any evil.”

“And then Henry was poisoned? That’s the story I heard.”

“It’s a sad tale. An unfortunate tragedy. Several years later, three high priests had come to Blackthorn seeking a home to share their knowledge. Henry accepted them and gave them a home within the city walls. Tensions began to grow between the non-magical folk and the mages. The mages thought they were being treated unfairly. Ghetsis was the man to blame for their change in thought. Under his leadership, some of the mages began to believe they were deserving of more power.”

“And a rebellion happened?”

Again, she nodded. “Yes. Henry was poisoned one night. Joseph had been killed by some unknown power. Ghetsis was blamed for it – all the signs pointed to him. When Henry died befell the region, and a plague swept across the land. Many believe it to be Arceus’s wrath unleashed upon the mages since only mages fell ill. Ghetsis and his followers were struck down with the illness, and Edward Blackthorn had ordered them to be sealed away in tombs scattered around the region.”

Lyra frowned. That’s what Gary had told her. The man and his followers had succumbed to illness, but Gary had never mentioned his name, claiming it had been erased from the history books. “And that’s why there are hostilities between the mages and the non-magical folk now. How do the werewolves fit into this?”

“The werewolves had been the result of a woman’s broken heart. Her name was Melisandre, a wild mage of the woods, who had used her magic to curse a tribe of men to turn into beasts every full moon night. She had found her husband with another woman and decided they should all suffer like her heart had,” Sheila explained. “It was said you could identify a cursed man by the marking on the back of his neck.”

“What sort of marking?” Lyra said, her thought shifting to Lance.

She shrugged. “I do not know.”

Lyra decided not to bring up the crescent moon marking on Lance’s neck. She couldn’t assume Lance was a wolf. The marking could mean something else entirely. Mages often left symbols on their cursed targets that were often not related to the actual curse. If only her mother was here. The woman would know. Besides, if she started making such assumptions, then she would find herself in a lot of trouble. “And how are faeries are recognized? And why are there no records?”

“Most heroes are not given the praise they deserve. He wasn’t even given a proper burial, and I couldn’t tell you where Joseph was buried.”

With a frown, Lyra said, “Were they scared he’d come back to haunt them?”

She nodded. “People believe in spirits, especially the commonfolk. They fear magic even more. They believed if he were buried within this city, his magic would taint the land. People quickly forgot the role he had played in defeating the dragonite. They are quick to point the finger and accuse. They fear what they do not understand.”

“Btu they kept the sword, right? I mean, if it slayed a dragon, and had divine power… It might be worth keeping it safe.”

“Henry Blackthorn had been buried away from the main castle, and his sword with him. When Edward Blackthorn was crowned, he wanted the castle cleansed of his father. That included the sword. He didn’t trust magic.”

Of course. They wouldn’t bury the body within the castle grounds. “Right.”

“A tragic tale of two heroes, but fear makes people take extreme action.”

Lyra picked a green grape and debated whether to ask more questions. So much had been revealed to her now, but nothing that answered what the mark on Lance was. “Thanks for telling me.”

The woman climbed to her feet, wiping her hands on her dress. “It helps keep the mind from worrying about other things. A welcome distraction, and I’m sure you have plenty to think about as well with Clair’s wedding approaching, and the life after that. I’ve heard lovely stories about Unova.”

Lyra ate another grape. “I hope they’re true.”

“You won’t leave immediately – Clair will want to stay in the city for a few more days to say her farewells and talk with Lance. I do wish you would be staying here permanently – Ethan would like it too, I’m sure. It’s the happiest I’ve seen him in years. I should go now – you’ll need to sweep the floors in the baths later tonight.” She walked away.

Lyra continued to eat her food, lost in her thoughts. A missing magical sword. The existence of faeries, and a strange crescent moon marking on Lance’s neck. What did it all mean? She regretted not spending more time understanding the symbols in her mother’s book. All this information would make more sense. Holding back a sigh, she pushed the plate away, having lost her appetite. Learning her head against the spine of the chair, she squeezed her eyes shut and began to doze.


End file.
